*••  ^m^* 


SIMON 
THE  JESTER* 


WILLIAM  I 
J.  LOCKE 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSa)£ 


SIMON  THE  JESTER 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

IDOLS 

SEPTIMUS 

DERELICTS 

THE  USURPER 

WHERE   LOVE  IS 

THE  WHITE  DOVE 

A  STUDY  IN  SHADOWS 

THE  BELOVED  VAGABOND 

AT  THE  GATE  OF  SAMARIA 

THE  MORALS  OF  MARCUS  ORDEYNE 

THE  DEMAGOGUE  AND  LADY  PHAYRE 


: :  SIMON : : 

THE  JESTER 


BY 

WILLIAM   J/LOCKE 

//) 


LONDON  :  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
NEW  YORK  :  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY  :  MCMX 


Copyright,  1909 

i3y  The  Phillips  Publishing  Comtany 

Copyright,  1910 

By  John  Lane  Company 


Printed  by  Ballantyne  i^  Co.  Limited 
Tavistock  Street,  Covent  Garden,  London 


SIMON  THE  JESTER 


CHAPTER  I 

I  MET  Renniker  the  other  day  at  the  club.  He  is  a 
man  who  knows  everything — from  the  method  of 
trimming  a  puppy's  tail  for  a  dog-show,  without  being 
disqualified,  to  the  innermost  workings  of  the  mind  of 
every  European  potentate.  If  I  want  information  on 
any  subject  under  heaven  I  ask  Renniker. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  said  I,  "  the  most  God-forsaken 
spot  in  England  ?  " 

Renniker,  being  in  a  flippant  mood,  mentioned  a 
fashionable  watering-place  on  the  South  Coast.  I 
pleaded  the  seriousness  of  my  question. 

"  What  I  want,"  said  I,  "  is  a  place  compared  to 
which  Golgotha,  Aceldama,  the  Dead  Sea,  the  Valley 
3f  Jehoshaphat,  and  Ratchff  Highway  would  be  leafy 
bowers  of  uninterrupted  delight." 

"  Then  ]\Iurglebed-on-Sea  is  what  you're  looking  for," 
said  Renniker.     "  Are  you  going  there  at  once  ?  " 

"  At  once,"  said  I. 

"  It's  November,"  said  he,  "  and  a  villainous  No- 
vember at  that  ;  so  you'll  see  Murglebed-on-Sea  in  the 
fine  flower  of  its  desolation." 

I  thanked  him,  went  home,  and  summoned  my 
excellent  man  Rogers. 

"  Rogers,"  said  I,  "  I  am  going  to  the  seaside.  I 
hear  that  Murglebed  is  a  nice  quiet  little  spot.  You 
will  go  down  and  inspect  it  for  me  and  bring  back 
a  report." 


2  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

He  went  blithe  and  light-hearted,  though  he  thought 
me  insane  ;  he  returned  with  the  air  of  a  ser\nng-man 
who,  expecting  to  find  a  well-equipped  pantry,  had 
wandered  into  a  charnel-house. 

"  It's  an  awful  place,  sir.  It's  sixteen  miles  from  a 
railway  station.  The  shore  is  a  mud  fiat.  There's  no 
hotel,  and  the  inhabitants  are  like  cannibals." 

"  I  start  for  Murglebed-on-Sea  to-morrow,"  said  I. 

Rogers  stared  at  me.  His  loose  mouth  quivered 
like  that  of  a  child  preparing  to  cry. 

"  We  can't  possibly  stay  there,  sir,"  he  remonstrated. 

"  We  are  not  going  to  try,"  I  retorted.  "I'm  going 
by  myself." 

His  face  brightened.  Almost  cheerfully  he  assured 
me  that  I  should  find  nothing  to  eat  in  Murglebed. 

"  You  can  amuse  yourself,"  said  I,  "  by  sending  me 
down  a  daily  hamper  of  provisions." 

"  There  isn't  even  a  church,"  he  continued. 

"  Then  you  can  send  me  down  a  tin  one  from  Hum- 
phreys'. I  beheve  they  can  supply  one  with  every- 
thing from  a  tin  rabbit-hutch  to  a  town  hall." 

He  sighed  and  departed,  and  the  next  day  I  found 
myself  here,  in  Murglebed-on-Sea. 

On  a  murky,  sullen  November  day  Murglebed  exhibits 
unimagined  horrors  of  scenic  depravity.  It  snarls  at 
you  malignantly.  It  is  like  a  bit  of  waste  land  in 
Gehenna.  There  is  a  lowering,  soap-suddy  thing  a 
mile  away  from  the  more  or  less  dry  land  which  local 
ignorance  and  superstition  call  the  sea.  The  interim 
is,  mud — oozy,  brown,  malevolent  mud.  Sometimes 
it  seems  to  heave  as  if  with  the  myriad  bodies  of  shmy 
crawling  eels  and  worms  and  snakes.  A  few  foul  boats 
lie  buried  in  it. 

Here  and  there,  on  land,  a  surly  inhabitant  spits 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  3 

into  it.  If  you  address  him  he  snorts  at  you  unin- 
telligibly. If  you  turn  your  back  to  the  sea  you  are 
met  by  a  prospect  of  unimagined  despair.  There  are 
no  trees.  The  country  is  flat  and  barren.  A  dismal 
creek  runs  miles  inland — an  estuary  fed  by  the  River 
Murgle.  A  few  battered  cottages,  a  general  shop,  a 
couple  of  low  public-houses,  and  three  perky  red-brick 
villas  all  in  a  row  form  the  city,  or  town,  or  village,  or 
what  you  will,  of  Murglebed-on-Sea.  Renniker  is  a 
wonderful  man. 

I  have  rented  a  couple  of  furnished  rooms  in  one  of 
the  villas.  It  has  a  decayed  bit  of  front  garden  in 
which  a  gnarled,  stunted  stick  is  planted,  and  it  is 
called  The  Laburnums.  My  landlord,  the  owner  of 
the  villas,  is  a  builder.  What  profit  he  can  get  from 
building  in  Murglebed,  Heaven  alone  knows  ;  but,  as 
he  mounts  a  bicycle  in  the  morning  and  disappears 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  presume  he  careers  over  the 
waste,  building  as  he  goes.  In  the  evenings  he  gets 
drunk  at  the  Red  Cow  ;  so  I  know  Httle  of  him,  save 
that  he  is  a  red-faced  man,  with  a  moustache  like  a 
tooth-brush  and  two  great  hands  like  hams. 

His  wife  is  taciturn  almost  to  dumbness.  She  is  a 
thick-set,  black-haired  woman,  and  looks  at  me  dis- 
approvingly out  of  the  comer  of  her  eye  as  if  I  were  a 
blackbeetle  which  she  would  like  to  squash  under  foot. 
She  tolerates  me,  however,  on  account  of  the  tongues 
and  other  sustenance  sent  by  Rogers  from  Benoist, 
of  which  she  consumes  prodigious  quantities.  She 
wonders,  as  far  as  the  power  of  wonder  is  given  to  her 
dull  brain,  what  on  earth  I  am  doing  here.  I  see  her 
whispering  to  her  friends  as  I  enter  the  house,  and  I 
know  they  are  wondering  what  I  am  doing  here.  The 
whole  village  regards  me  as  a  humorous   zoological 


4  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

freak,  and  wonders  what  I  am  doing  here  among  normal 
human  beings. 

And  what  am  I  doing  here — I,  Simon  de  Gex,  M.P., 
the  spoilt  darhng  of  fortune,  as  my  opponent  in  the 
Labour  interest  called  me  during  the  last  electoral 
campaign  ?  My  disciple  and  secretary,  young  Dale 
Kynnersley,  the  only  mortal  besides  Rogers  who  knows 
my  whereabouts,  trembles  for  my  reason.  In  the  eyes 
of  the  excellent  Rogers  I  am  horn-mad.  What  my 
constituents  would  think  did  they  see  me  taking  the 
muddy  air  on  a  soggy  afternoon  I  have  no  conception. 
Dale  keeps  them  at  bay.  He  also  baffles  the  curiosity 
of  my  sisters,  and  by  his  diplomacy  has  sent  Eleanor 
Faversham  on  a  huffy  trip  to  Sicily.  She  cannot 
understand  why  I  bury  myself  in  bleak  solitude,  instead 
of  making  cheerful  holiday  among  the  oranges  and 
lemons  of  the  South. 

Eleanor  is  a  girl  with  a  thousand  virtues,  each  of 
which  she  expects  to  find  in  counterpart  in  the  man  to 
whom  she  is  affianced.  Until  a  week  or  two  ago  I 
actually  thought  myself  in  love  with  Eleanor.  There 
seemed  a  whimsical  attraction  in  the  idea  of  marrying 
a  girl  with  a  thousand  virtues.  Before  me  lay  the 
pleasant  prospect  of  reducing  them — say,  ten  at  a  time 
— until  I  reached  the  limit  at  which  life  was  possible, 
and  then  one  by  one  until  life  became  entertaining. 
I  admired  her  exceedingly — a  strapping,  deep-chested, 
healthy  English  girl  who  looked  you  straight  in  the  eyes 
and  gripped  you  fearlessly  by  the  hand. 

My  friends  "  lucky-dog'd "  me  until  I  began  to 
smirk  to  myself  at  my  own  good  fortune.  She  visited 
the  constituency  and  comported  herself  as  if  she  had 
been  a  Member's  wife  since  infancy,  thereby  causing 
my  heart  to  swell  with  noble  pride.     This  unparalleled 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  5 

young  person  compelled  me  to  take  my  engagement 
almost  seriously.  If  I  shot  forth  a  jest,  it  struck 
against  a  virtue  and  fell  blunted  to  the  earth.  Indeed, 
even  now  I  am  sorry  I  can't  marry  Eleanor.  But 
marriage  is  out  of  the  question,      r^i 

I  have  been  told  by  the  highest  medical  authorities 
that  I  may  manage  to  wander  in  the  flesh  about  this 
planet  for  another  six  months.  After  that  I  shall  have 
to  do  what  wandering  I  yearn  for  through  the  medium 
of  my  ghost.  There  is  a  certain  humorousness  in  the 
prospect.  Save  for  an  occasional  pain  somewhere 
nside  me,  I  am  in  the  most  robust  health. 

But  this  same  httle  pain  has  been  diagnosed  by  the 
Faculty  as  the  symptom  of  an  obscure  disease.  An 
operation,  they  tell  me,  would  kill  me  on  the  spot. 
What  it  is  called  I  cannot  for  the  hfe  of  me  remember. 
They  gave  it  a  kind  of  hngering  name,  which  I  wrote 
down  on  my  shirt-cuff. 

The  name  or  characteristics  of  the  thing,  however,  do 
not  matter  a  fig.  I  have  always  hated  people  who 
talked  about  their  insides,  and  I  am  not  going  to  talk 
about  mine,  even  to  myself.  Clearly,  if  it  is  only  going 
to  last  me  six  months,  it  is  not  worth  talking  about. 
But  the  quaint  fact  of  its  brief  duration  is  worth  the 
attention  of  a  contemplative  mind. 

It  is  in  order  perfectly  to  focus  this  attention  that  I 
have  come  to  Murglebed-on-Sea.  Here  I  am  alone  with 
the  murk  and  the  mud  and  my  own  indrawn  breath  of 
life.  There  are  no  flowers,  blue  sky,  smihng  eyes,  and 
dainty  faces — none  of  the  adventitious  distractions  of 
the  earth.  There  are  no  Blue-books.  Before  the 
Faculty  made  their  jocular  pronouncement  I  had  been 
filling  my  head  with  statistics  on  pauper  lunacy  so  as  to 
please  my  constituency,  in  which  the  rate  has  increased 


6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

alarmingly  of  late  years.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  found 
myself  their  representative  in  Parliament.  I  was  to 
father  a  Bill  on  the  subject  next  session.  Now  the 
labour  will  fall  on  other  shoulders.  I  interest  myself 
in  pauper  lunacy  no  more.  A  man  requires  less  flippant 
occupation  for  the  premature  sunset  of  his  days.  Well, 
in  Murglebed  I  can  think,  I  can  weigh  the  fros  and 
cons  of  existence  with  an  even  mind,  I  can  accustom 
myself  to  the  concept  of  a  Great  Britain  without 
Simon  de  Gex,  M.P. 

Of  course,  when  I  go  I  shall  "  cast  one  longing,  hnger- 
ing  look  behind."  I  don't  particularly  want  to  die. 
In  fact,  having  otherwise  the  prospect  of  an  enter- 
taining life,  I  regard  my  impending  dissolution  in  the 
light  of  a  grievance.  But  I  am  not  afraid.  I  shall  go 
through  the  dismal  formality  with  a  graceful  air  and 
as  much  of  a  smile  on  my  face  as  the  pain  in  my  inside 
will  physically  permit. 

My  dear  but  somewhat  sober-sided  friend  Marcus 
Aurelius  says  :  "  Let  death  surprise  me  when  it  will, 
and  where  it  will,  I  may  be  tvjuoipo^,  or  a  happy  man, 
nevertheless.  For  he  is  a  happy  man  who  in  his 
lifetime  dealeth  unto  himself  a  happy  lot  and  portion. 
A  happy  lot  and  portion  is  good  inclinations  of  the  soul, 
good  desires,  good  actions." 

The  word  evjuoipog  (or  eumoiros  in  English  dress), 
according  to  the  above  definition,  tickles  my  fancy. 
I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  be  eumoirous.  What  a  thing 
to  say  :  "  I  have  achieved  eumoiriety  " — namely,  the 
quintessence  of  happy-fatedness  dealt  unto  oneself  by 
a  perfect  altruism  ! 

I  don't  think  that  hitherto  my  soul  has  been  very 
evilly  inchned,  my  desires  base,  or  my  actions  those  of 
a  scoundrel.     Still,  the  negatives  do  not  qualify  one 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  7 

for  eumoiriety.  One  wants  something  positive.  I 
have  an  idea,  therefore,  of  actively  deahng  unto  myself 
a  happy  lot  or  portion  according  to  the  Marcian  defi- 
nition during  the  rest  of  the  time  I  am  allowed  to 
breathe  the  upper  air.  And  this  will  be  fairly  easy ; 
for  no  matter  how  excellently  a  man's  soul  may  be 
inclined  to  the  performance  of  a  good  action,  in  ninety 
cases  out  of  a  hundred  he  is  driven  away  from  it 
by  dread  of  the  consequences.  Your  moral  teachers 
seldom  think  of  this — that  the  consequences  of  a  good 
action  are  often  more  disastrous  than  those  of  an  evil 
one.  But  if  a  man  is  going  to  die,  he  can  do  good 
with  impunity.  He  can  simply  wallow  in  practical 
virtue.  When  the  boomerang  of  his  benelicence 
comes  back  to  hit  him  on  the  head — he  won't  he  there 
to  feel  it.  He  can  thus  hoist  Destiny  with  its  own 
petard,  and,  besides  being  eumoirous,  can  spend  a 
month  or  two  in  a  peculiarly  diverting  manner.  The 
more  I  think  of  the  idea  the  more  am  I  in, love  with  it. 
I  am  going  to  have  a  seraph  of  a  time.  I  am  going  to 
play  the  archangel. 

I  shall  always  have  pleasant  memories  of  Murglebed. 
Such  an  idea  could  not  have  germinated  in  any  other 
atmosphere.  In  the  scented  groves  of  sunny  lands 
there  would  have  been  sown  Seeds  of  Regret,  which 
would  have  blossomed  eventually  into  Flowers  of 
Despair.  I  should  have  gone  about  the  world,  a 
modern  Admetus,  snivelling  at  my  accursed  luck, 
without  even  the  chance  of  persuading  a  soft-hearted 
Alcestis  to  die  for  me.  I  should  have  been  a  dismal 
nuisance  to  society. 

"  Bless  you,"  I  cried  this  afternoon,  waving,  as  I 
leaned  against  a  post,  my  hand  to  the  ambient  mud, 
"  Renniker  was  wrong  !     You  are  not  a  God-forsaken 


8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

place.       You    are  impregnated  with  divine    inspira- 
tion." 

A  muddy  man  in  a  blue  ]ersey  and  filthy  beard  who 
occupied  the  next  post  looked  at  me  and  spat  con- 
temptuously.    I  laughed. 

"  If  you  were  Marcus  Aurelius,"  said  I,  "  I  would 
make  a  joke — a  short  life  and  an  eumoiry  one — and 
he  would  have  looked  as  pained  as  you." 

"  What  ?  "  he  bawled.     He  was  to  windward  of  me. 

I  knew  that  if  I  repeated  my  observation  he  would 
offer  to  fight  me.     I  approached  him  suavely. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  I  said,  "  as  it's  impossible  to 
strike  a  match  in  this  wind,  whether  you  would  let  me 
light  my  pipe  from  yours." 

"  It's  empty,"  he  growled. 

"  Take  a  fill  from  my  pouch,"  said  I. 

The  mud-turtle  loaded  his  pipe,  handed  me  my 
pouch  without  acknowledgment,  stuck  his  pipe  in  his 
breeches  pocket,  spat  again,  and,  deliberately  turning 
his  back  on  me,  lounged  off  to  another  post  on  a 
remoter  and  less  lunatic-ridden  portion  of  the  shore. 
Again  I  laughed,  feeling,  as  the  poet  did  with  the 
daffodils,  that  one  could  not  but  be  gay  in  such  a 
jocund  company. 

There  are  no  amenities  or  urbanities  of  life  in  Murgle- 
bed  to  choke  the  growth  of  the  Idea.  This  evening  it 
flourishes  so  exceedingly  that  I  think  it  safe  to  trans- 
plant it  in  the  alien  soil  of  Q  3,  The  Albany,  where  the 
good  Rogers  must  be  leading  an  idle  existence  pecu- 
liarly deleterious  to  his  morals. 

This  gives  one  furiously  to  think.     One  of  the  respon- 
sibilities of  eumoiriety  must  be  the  encouragement  and 
development  of  virtue  in  my  manservant. 
Also  in  my  young  friend  and  secretary,  Dale  Kyn- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  9 

nersley.  He  is  more  to  me  than  Rogers,  I  may 
confess  that,  so  long  as  Rogers  is  a  sober,  honest,  me- 
fearing  valet,  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  don't  care  a  hang 
about  Rogers's  morals.  But  about  those  of  Dale 
Kyrmersley  I  do.  I  care  a  great  deal  for  his  career 
and  happiness.  I  have  a  notion  that  he  is  erring 
after  strange  goddesses  and  neglecting  the  little  girl 
who  is  in  love  with  him.  He  must  be  delivered.  He 
must  marry  Maisie  Ellerton,  and  the  two  of  them  must 
bring  lots  of  capable,  clear-eyed  Kynnersleys  into  the 
world.     I  long  to  be  their  ghostly  godfather. 

Then  there's  Eleanor  Faversham — but  if  I  begin  to 

draw  up  a  programme  I  shall  lose  that  spontaneity  of 

effort  which,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  the  chief  charms  of 

dealing  unto  oneself  a  happy  lot  and  portion.    No  ;  my 

soul    abhors    tabulation.     It    would    make    even    six 

months'  life  as  jocular  as  Bradshaw's  Railway  Guide 

or  the  dietary  of  a  prison.     I  prefer  to  look  on  what  is 

before  me  as  a  high  adventure,  and  with  that  prospect 

in  view  I  propose  to  jot  down  my  experiences  from 

time  to  time,  so  that  when  I  am  wandering,  a  pale 

shade  by  Acheron,  young  Dale  Kynnersley  may  have 

not  only  documentary  evidence  wherewith  to  convince 

my  friends  and  relations  that  my  latter  actions  were 

not  those  of  a  lunatic,  but  also,  at  the  same  time,  an 

up-to-date  version  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  edifying  though 

humour-lacking  treatise  on  the  art  of  dying,  which  I 

am  sorely  tempted  to  label  "  The  Rule  and  Example  of 

Eumoiriety."     I  shall  resist  the  temptation,  however. 

Dale  Kynnersley — such  is  the  ignorance  of  the  new 

generation — would  have  no  sense  of  the  allusion.     He 

would  shake  his  head  and  say,  "  Dotty,  poor  old  chap, 

dotty  !  "     I  can  hear  him.     And  if,  in  order  to  prepare 

him,  I  gave  him  a  copy  of  the   "  Meditations,"   he 


10  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

would  fling  the  book  across  the  room  and  qualify 
Marcus  Aurelius  as  a  "  rotter." 

Dale  is  a  very  shrewd  fellow,  and  will  make  an  ad- 
mirable legislator  when  his  time  comes.  Although  his 
highest  intellectual  recreation  is  reiterated  attendance 
at  the  musical  comedy  that  has  caught  his  fancy  for  the 
moment  and  his  favourite  literature  the  sporting  pages 
of  the  daily  papers,  he  has  a  curious  feline  pounce  on 
the  salient  facts  of  a  political  situation,  and  can  thread 
the  mazes  of  statistics  with  the  certainty  of  a  Hampton 
Court  guide.  His  enthusiastic  researches  (on  my 
behalf)  into  pauper  lunacy  are  remarkable  in  one  so 
young.  I  foresee  him  an  invaluable  chairman  of 
committee.  But  he  will  never  become  a  statesman. 
He  has  too  passionate  a  faith  in  facts  and  figures,  and 
has  not  cultivated  a  sense  of  humour  at  the  expense 
of  the  philosophers.  Young  men  who  do  not  read 
them  lose  a  great  deal  of  fun. 

Well,  to-morrow  I  leave  Murglebed  for  ever  :  it  has 
my  benison.     Democritus  returns  to  London. 


CHAPTER  n 

I  WAS  at  breakfast  on  the  morning  after  my  arrival  in 
London,  when  Dale  Kynnersley  rushed  in  and  seized 
me  violently  by  the  hand. 

"  By  Jove,  here  you  are  at  last  !  " 

I  smoothed  my  crushed  fingers.  "  You  have  such  a 
vehement  manner  of  proclaiming  the  obvious,  my  dear 
Dale." 

"  Oh,  rot  !  "  he  said.  "  Here,  Rogers,  give  me  some 
tea — and  I  think  I'll  have  some  toast  and  marmalade." 

"  Haven't  you  breakfasted  ?  " 

A  cloud  overspread  his  ingenuous  countenance. 

"  I  came  down  late,  and  everything  was  cold  and 
mother  was  on  edge.  The  girls  are  always  doing  the 
wrong  things  and  I  never  do  the  right  ones — you  know 
the  mater — so  I  swallowed  a  tepid  kidney  and  rushed 
off." 

"  Save  for  her  worries  over  you  urchins,"  said  I,  "  I 
hope  Lady  Kynnersley  is  well  ?  " 

He  filled  his  mouth  with  toast  and  marmalade,  and 

nodded.     He  is  a  good-looking  boy,  four-and-twenty — 

idyllic  age  !     He  has  sleek  black  hair  brushed  back 

from  his  forehead  over  his  head,  an  olive  complexion, 

and  a  keen,  open,  clean-shaven  face.     He  wore  a  dark 

brown  lounge  suit  and  a  wine-coloured  tie,  and  looked 

immaculate.     I  remember  him  as  the  grubbiest  little 

wretch  that  ever  disgraced  Harrow. 

He  swallowed  his  mouthful  and  drank  some  tea. 

II 


12  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Recovered  your  sanity  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  dangerous  symptoms  have  passed  over,"  I 
rephed.     "  I  undertake  not  to  bite." 

He  regarded  me  as  though  he  were  not  quite  certain, 
and  asked  in  his  pronounless  way  whether  I  was  glad 
to  be  back  in  London. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  Rogers  is  the  only  human  creature 
who  can  properly  wax  the  ends  of  my  moustache.  It 
got  horribly  limp  in  the  air  of  Murglebed.  That  is 
the  one  and  only  disadvantage  of  the  place." 

"  Doesn't  seem  to  have  done  you  much  good,"  he 
remarked,  scanning  me  critically.  "  You  are  as  white 
as  you  were  before  you  went  away.  Why  the  blazes 
you  didn't  go  to  Madeira,  or  the  South  of  France,  or 
South  Africa  I  can't  imagine." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  can,"  said  I.     "  Any  news  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  have  !  But  first  let  me  go  through 
the  appointments." 

He  consulted  a  pocket-book.  On  December  2nd  I 
was  to  dine  with  Tanners'  Company  and  reply  to  the 
toast  of  "  The  House  of  Commons."  On  the  4th  my 
constituency  claimed  me  for  the  opening  of  a  bazaar  at 
Wymington.  A  httle  later  I  was  to  speak  somewhere  in 
the  North  of  England  at  a  by-election  in  support  of 
the  party  candidate. 

"  It  will  be  fought  on  Tariff  Reform,  about  which  I 
know  nothing,"  I  objected. 

"  I  know  everything,"  he  declared.  "  I'll  see  you 
through.  You  must  buck  up  a  bit,  Simon,  and  get  your 
name  better  known  about  the  country.  And  this  brings 
me  to  my  news.  I  was  talking  to  Raggles  the  other  day 
— he  dropped  a  hint  and  Raggles's  hints  are  jolly  well 
worth  while  picking  up.  Just  come  to  the  front  and 
show  yourself,  and  there's  a  place  in  the  Ministry." 


SIMON   THE  JESTER  13 

"  Ministry  ?  " 

"  Sanderson's  going." 

"  Sanderson  ?  "  I  queried,  interested,  in  spite  of 
myself,  in  these  puerilities.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
him  ?  " 

"  Swelled  head.  There  have  been  awful  rows — this 
is  confidential — and  he's  got  the  hump.  Thinks  he 
ought  to  be  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  or  at 
least  First  Lord,  instead  of  an  Under  Secretary.  So 
he's  going  to  chuck  it,  before  he  gets  the  chuck  himself 
—see  ?  " 

"  I  perceive,"  said  I,  "  that  your  conversational 
English  style  is  abominable." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  continued,  loftily  taking  no 
notice  of  my  rebuke. 

"  There's  bound  to  be  a  vacancy.  Why  shouldn't 
you  fill  it  ?  They  seem  to  want  you.  You're  miles 
away  over  the  heads  of  the  average  solemn  duffers 
who  get  office." 

I  bowed  acknowledgment  of  his  tribute. 

"  Well,  you  will  buck  up  and  try  for  it,  won't  you  ? 
I'm  awfully  proud  of  you  already,  but  I  should  go  off 
my  head  with  joy  if  you  were  in  the  Ministry." 

I  met  his  honest  young  eyes  as  well  as  I  could.  How 
was  I  going  to  convey  to  his  candid  inteUigence  the 
fact  of  my  speedy  withdrawal  from  political  life  without 
shattering  his  illusions  ?  Besides,  his  devotion  touched 
me,  and  his  generous  aspirations  were  so  futile.  Office  ! 
It  was  in  my  grasp.  Raggles,  with  his  finger  always 
on  the  pulse  of  the  party  machine,  was  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  talk  nonsense.  I  only  had  to  "  buck  up." 
Yet  by  the  time  Sanderson  sends  in  his  resignation  to 
the  King  of  England,  I  shall  have  sent  in  mine  to  the 
King  of  Hosts.     I  moved  shghtly  in  my  chair,  and  a 


14  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

twinge  of  the  little  pain  inside  brought  a  gasp  to  my 
throat.  But  I  felt  grateful  to  it.  It  was  saving  me 
from  an  unconscionable  deal  of  worry.  Fancy  going  to 
a  confounded  office  every  morning  like  a  clerk  in  the 
City  !  I  were  happier  at  peace.  I  rose  and  warmed  my- 
self by  the  fire.  Dale  regarded  me  uncomprehendingly. 
"  You  look  as  if  the  prospect  bored  you  to  tears.  T 
thought  you  would  be  delighted.'* 

"  Vanitas  vanitatum''  said  I.     "  Omnia  vanitas.'' 
"  Rot  !  "  said  Dale. 
"  It's  true." 

"  I  must  fetch  Eleanor  Faversham  back  from  Sicily," 
said  Dale. 

"  Don't,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  give  you  up,"  he  declared,  pushing  his  chair 
from  the  table  and  swinging  one  leg  across  the  other. 
I  leaned  forward  and  scrutinised  his  ankles. 
"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  " 

"  There  must  be  something  radically  wrong  with 
you,  Dale,"  I  murmured  sympathetically.  "  It  is 
part  of  the  rehgion  of  your  generation  to  wear  socks 
to  match  your  tie.     To-day  your  tie  is  wine-coloured 

and  your  socks  are  green " 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  cried,  "  so  they  are  !     I  dressed 
myself  anyhow  this  morning." 
"  What's  wrong  with  you  ?  " 
He  threw  his  cigarette  impatiently  into  the  fire. 
"  Every  infernal  thing  that  can  possibly  be.     Every- 
thing's rotten — but  I've  not  come  here  to  talk  about 
myself." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  the  game.  I'm  here  on  your  business, 
which  is  ever  so  much  more  important  than  mine. 
Where  are  this  morning's  letters  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  15 

I  pointed  to  an  unopened  heap  on  a  writing-table 
at  the  end  of  the  room.  He  crossed  and  sat  down 
before  them.     Presently  he  turned  sharply. 

"  You  haven't  looked  through  the  envelopes.  Here 
is  one  from  Sicily." 

I  took  the  letter  from  him,  and  sighed  to  myself  as 
I  read  it.  Eleanor  was  miserable.  The  Sicilians 
were  dirty.  The  Duomo  of  Palermo  did  not  come  up 
to  her  expectations.  The  Mobray-Robertsons,  with 
whom  she  travelled,  quarrelled  with  their  food.  They 
had  never  even  heard  of  Theocritus.  She  had  a  cold 
in  her  head,  and  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  explain 
my  attitude.  Therefore  she  was  coming  back  to 
London. 

I  wish  I  could  find  her  a  nice  tame  husband  who  had 
heard  of  Theocritus.  It  would  be  such  a  good  thing 
for  everybody,  husband  included.  For,  I  repeat, 
Eleanor  is  a  young  woman  of  fine  character,  and  the 
man  to  whom  she  gives  her  heart  will  be  a  fortunate 
fellow. 

While  I  was  reading  the  letter  and  meditating  on  it, 
with  my  back  to  the  fire.  Dale  plunged  into  the  morn- 
ing's correspondence  with  an  air  of  enjoyment.  That 
is  the  astonishing  thing  about  him.  He  loves  work. 
The  more  I  give  him  to  do  the  better  he  likes  it.  His 
cronies,  who  in  raiment,  manners,  and  tastes  differ 
from  him  no  more  than  a  row  of  pins  differs  from  a 
stray  brother,  regard  a  writing-chair  as  a  mediaeval 
instrument  of  torture,  and  faint  at  the  sight  of  ink. 
They  will  put  themselves  to  all  kinds  of  physical  and 
pecuniary  inconvenience  in  order  to  avoid  regular 
employment.  They  are  the  tramps  of  the  fashionable 
world.  But  in  vain  do  they  sing  to  Dale  the  joys  of 
silk-hatted    and    patent-leather-booted    vagabondage 


i6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

and  deride  his  habits  of  industry  ;  Dale  turns  a  deaf 
ear  to  them  and  urges  on  his  strenuous  career.  Rogers, 
coming  in  to  clear  away  the  breakfast  things,  was 
despatched  by  my  young  friend  to  fetch  a  portfolio 
from  the  hall.  It  contained,  he  informed  me,  the 
unanswered  letters  of  the  past  fortnight  with  which 
he  had  found  himself  unqualified  to  deal.  He  grasped 
the  whole  bundle  of  correspondence,  and  invited  me 
to  follow  him  to  the  library  and  start  on  a  solid  morn- 
ing's work.  I  obeyed  meekly.  He  sat  down  at  the 
big  table,  arranged  the  pile  in  front  of  him,  took  a 
pencil  from  the  tray,  and  began  : 

"  This  is  from  Finch,  of  the  Universal  Review.'^ 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Tell  him,  my  boy,  that  it's  against  my  custom  to 
breakfast  at  afternoon  tea,  and  that  I  hope  his  wife 
is  well." 

At  his  look  of  bewilderment  I  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  He  wants  me  to  write  a  dull  article  for  his  stupid 
paper,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;   on  Poor  Law  Administration." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  it.  I'm  not  going  to  do  any- 
thing these  people  ask  me.  Say  '  No,  no,  no,  no,'  to 
everybody." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Simon,"  he  cried,  laying  down 
his  pencU,  "  what  has  come  over  you  ?  " 

"Old  age,"  said  I. 

He  uttered  his  usual  interjection,  and  added  that  I 
was  only  thirty-seven. 

"  Age  is  a  relative  thing,"  I  remarked.  "  Babes  of 
five  have  been  known  to  die  of  senile  decay,  and  I  have 
seen  irresponsible  striplings  of  seventy." 

"  I  really  think  Eleanor  Faversham  had  better  come 
back  from  Sicily." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  17 

I  tapped  the  letter  still  in  my  hand.  "  She's 
coming." 

*'  I'm  jolly  glad  to  hear  it.  It's  all  my  silly  fault 
that  she  went  away.  I  thought  she  was  getting  on 
your  nerves.  But  you  want  pulling  together.  That 
confounded  place  you've  been  to  has  utterly  upset 
you." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "  it  has  steadied  and 
amplified  my  conception  of  sublunary  affairs.  It  has 
shown  me  that  motley  is  a  much  more  profitable  wear 
than  the  edged  toga  of  the  senator " 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  dry  up,"  cried  young  England, 
"  and  tell  me  what  answers  I'm  to  give  to  these  people !  " 

He  seemed  so  earnest  about  it  that  I  humoured  him  ; 
and  my  correspondents  seemed  so  earnest  that  I 
humoured  them.  But  it  was  a  grim  jest.  Most  of  the 
matters  with  which  I  had  to  deal  appeared  so  trivial. 
Only  here  and  there  did  I  find  a  chance  for  eumoiriety. 
The  Wymington  Hospital  applied  for  their  annual 
donation. 

"  You  generally  give  a  tenner,"  said  Dale. 

"  This  time  I'U  give  them  a  couple  of  hundred,"  said  I. 

Dale  ear-marked  the  amount  wonderingly  ;  but  when 
I  ordered  him  to  send  five  pounds  apiece  to  the  authors 
of  various  begging  letters  he  argued  vehemently  and 
quoted  the  Charity  Organisation  Society. 

"They're  frauds,  all  of  them,"  he  maintained. 

"  They're  poor  necessitous  devils,  at  any  rate,"  said 
I,  "  and  they  want  the  money  more  than  I  do." 

This  was  a  truth  whose  significance  Dale  was  far 
from  realising.  Of  what  value,  indeed,  is  money  to 
me  ?  There  is  none  to  whom  I  can  usefully  bequeath 
my  little  fortune,  my  sisters  having  each  married  rich 
men.     I  shall  not  need  even  Charon's  obolus  when  I 

B 


i8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

am  dead,  for  we  have  ceased  to  believe  in  him — 
which  is  a  pity,  as  the  trip  across  the  Styx  must  have 
been  picturesque.  Why,  then,  should  I  not  deal 
myself  a  happy  lot  and  portion  by  squandering  my 
money  benevolently  during  my  lifetime  ? 

It  behoves  me,  however,  to  walk  warily  in  this  as  in 
other  matters,  for  if  my  actions  too  closely  resemble 
those  of  a  lunatic  at  large  trustees  may  be  appointed 
to  administer  my  affairs,  which  would  frustrate  my 
plans  entirely. 

When  my  part  in  the  morning's  work  was  over,  I 
informed  my  secretary  that  I  would  go  out  and  take 
the  air  till  lunch-time. 

*'  If  you've  nothing  better  to  do,"  said  he,  "  you 
might  run  round  to  Eccleston  Square  and  see  my 
mother." 

"  For  any  particular  reason  ?  " 
"  She  wants  to  see  you.     Home  for  inebriate  parrots 
or    something.     Gave    me    a   message    for    you    this 
morning." 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  I,  "  on  Lady  Kynnersley  with 
pleasure." 

I  went  out  and  walked  down  the  restful  covered 
way  of  the  Albany  to  the  Piccadilly  entrance,  and  began 
my  taking  of  the  air.  It  was  a  soft  November  day, 
full  of  blue  mist,  and  invested  with  a  dying  grace  by  a 
pale  sunshine  struggling  through  thin,  grey  rain-cloud. 
It  was  a  faded  lady  of  a  day — a  lady  of  waxen  cheeks, 
attired  in  pearl-grey  and  old  lace,  her  dim  eyes  illumined 
by  a  last  smile.  It  gave  an  air  of  unreality  to  the 
perspective  of  tall  buildings,  and  treated  with  in- 
dulgent irony  the  passing  show  of  humans — on  foot, 
on  omnibuses,  in  cabs  and  motors — turning  them 
into  shadow  shapes  tending  nowhither.     I  laughed  to 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  19 

myself.  They  all  fancied  themselves  so  real.  They 
all  had  schemes  in  their  heads,  as  if  they  were  going 
to  live  a  thousand  years.  I  walked  westwards  past 
the  great  clubs,  moralising  as  I  went,  and  feeling  the 
reaction  from  the  excitement  of  Murglebed-on-Sea. 
I  looked  up  at  one  of  my  own  clubs,  a  comfortable 
resting-place,  and  it  struck  me  as  possessing  more 
attractions  than  the  family  vault  in  Highgate  Ceme- 
tery, An  acquaintance  at  the  window  waved  his  hand 
to  me.  I  thought  him  a  lucky  beggar  to  have  that 
window  to  stand  by  when  the  street  will  be  flooded 
with  summer  sunshine  and  the  trees  in  the  Green  Park 
opposite  wave  in  their  verdant  bravery.  A  little  farther 
a  radiant  being,  all  chiffons  and  miUinery,  on  her  way 
to  Bond  Street  for  more  millinery  and  chiffons,  smiled 
at  me  and  put  forth  a  delicately  gloved  hand. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  de  Gex,  you're  the  very  man  I  was  longing 
to  see  !  " 

"  How  simply  are  some  human  aspirations  satisfied ! " 
said  I. 

"  Farfax  " — that's   her   husband,  Farfax   Glenn,  a 
Member  on  my  side  of  the  House — "  Farfax  and  I  are 
making  plans  already  for  the  Easter  recess.     We  are 
going  to  motor  to  Athens,  and  you  must  come  with  us. 
You  can  tell  us  all  about  everything  as  we  pass  by." 
I  looked  grave.     "  Easter  is  late  next  year." 
"  What  does  that  matter  ?     Say  you'll  come." 
"  Alas  !   my  dear  Mrs.  Glenn,"  I  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  have  an  engagement  at  Easter — a  very  important 


one." 


"  I  thought  the  wedding  was  not  to  take  place  till 
June." 

"  It  isn't  the  wedding,"  said  I. 
"  Then  break  the  engagement." 


20  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  It's  beyond  human  power,"  said  I. 

She  held  up  her  bracelet,  from  which  dangled  some 
charms. 

"  I  think  you're  a "     And  she  pointed  to  a  little 

golden  pig. 

"  I'm  not,"  I  retorted. 

"  What  are  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  gentleman  in  a  Greek  tragedy." 

We  laughed  and  parted,  and  I  went  on  my  way 
cheered  by  the  encounter.  I  had  spoken  the  exact 
truth,  and  found  amusement  in  doing  so.  One  has 
often  extracted  humour  from  the  contemplation  of 
the  dissolution  of  others — that  of  the  giant  in  "  Jack 
the  Giant-killer,"  for  instance,  and  the  demise  of  the 
little  boy  with  the  pair  of  skates  in  the  poem.  Why 
not  extract  it  from  the  contemplation  of  one's  own  ? 

The  only  disadvantage  of  my  position  is  that  it  gives 
me,  in  spite  of  myself,  an  odd  sense  of  isolation  from 
my  kind.  They  are  looking  forward  to  Easters  and 
Junes  and  summers,  and  I  am  not.  I  also  have  a 
fatuous  feeling  of  superiority  in  being  in  closer  touch 
than  they  with  eternal  verities.  I  must  take  care  that 
I  do  not  play  too  much  to  the  gallery,  that  I  do  not 
grow  too  conceited  over  the  singularity  of  my  situation, 
and  arrive  at  the  mental  attitude  of  the  criminal  whose 
dominant  solicitude  in  connection  with  his  execution 
was  that  he  should  be  hanged  in  his  dress  clothes. 
These  reflections  brought  me  to  Eccleston  Square. 

Lady  Kynnersley  is  of  that  type  of  British  matron 
who  has  children  in  fits  of  absent-mindedness,  and  to 
whom  their  existence  is  a  perpetual  shock.  Her  main 
idea  in  marrying  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Kynnersley  was 
to  associate  herself  with  his  political  and  philanthropic 
schemes.     She  is  the  bom  committee  woman,  to  whom 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  21 

a  home  represents  a  place  where  one  sleeps  and  eats  in 
order  to  maintain  the  strength  required  for  the  per- 
formance of  committee  duties.  Her  children  have 
always  been  outside  the  sphere  of  her  real  interests, 
but,  afflicted,  as  such  women  are,  with  chronic  inflam- 
mation of  the  conscience,  she  had  devoted  the  most 
scrupulous  care  to  their  upbringing.  She  formed 
herself  into  a  society  for  the  protection  of  her  own 
children,  and  managed  them  by  means  of  a  committee, 
which  consisted  of  herself,  and  of  which  she  was  the 
honorary  secretary.  She  drew  up  articles  of  asso- 
ciation and  regulations.  If  Dale  contracted  measles, 
she  applied  by-law  17.  If  Janet  slapped  Dorothy,  by- 
law 32  was  brought  into  play.  When  Dale  clamoured 
for  a  rocking-horse,  she  found  that  the  articles  of 
association  did  not  provide  for  imaginative  equitation. 
As  the  children  grew  up,  the  committee  had  from  time 
to  time  to  revise  the  articles  and  submit  them  to  the 
general  body  for  approval.  There  were  many  meetings 
before  the  new  sections  relating  to  a  University  career 
for  the  boy  and  the  coming  out  for  the  girls  were  satis- 
factorily drafted.  Once  given  the  effect  of  law,  how- 
ever, there  was  no  appeal  against  these  provisions. 
Both  committee  and  general  body  were  powerless. 
Dale  certainlv  owed  his  methodical  habits  to  his 
mechanical  training,  but  whence  he  derived  and  how 
he  maintained  his  exuberance  and  spontaneity  has 
often  puzzled  me.  He  himself  accounts  for  it  on  the 
score  of  heredity,  in  that  an  ancestress  of  his  married 
a  highwayman  who  was  hanged  at  Tyburn  under 
William  and  Mary. 

In  person  Lady  Kynnersley  is  lean  and  blanched  and 
grey-haired.  She  wears  gold  spectacles,  which  stand 
out  oddly  against  the  thin  whitei\ess  of  her  face  ;   she 


22  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

is  still  a  handsome,  distinguished  woman,  who  can 
have,  when  she  chooses,  a  most  gracious  manner.  As 
I,  worldling  and  jester  though  I  am,  for  some  mys- 
terious reason  have  found  favour  in  the  lady's  eyes, 
she  manifests  this  graciousness  whenever  we  fore- 
gather. Ergo,  I  like  Lady  Kynnersley,  and  would  put 
myself  to  much  inconvenience  in  order  to  do  her  a 
service. 

She  kept  me  waiting  in  the  drawing-room  but  a 
minute  before  she  made  her  appearance,  grasped  my 
hand,  proclaimed  my  goodness  in  responding  so  soon 
to  her  call,  bade  me  sit  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  side, 
inquired  after  my  health,  and,  the  gods  of  politeness 
being  propitiated,  plunged  at  once  into  the  midst  of 
matters. 

Dale  was  going  downhill  headlong  to  Gadarene 
catastrophe.  He  had  no  eyes  or  ears  or  thoughts  for 
any  one  in  the  world  but  a  certain  Lola  Brandt,  a 
brazen  creature  from  a  circus,  the  shape  of  whose  limbs 
was  the  common  knowledge  of  mankind  from  Dublin 
to  Yokohama,  and  whose  path  by  sea  and  land,  from 
Yokohama  to  Dublin,  was  strewn  with  the  bodies  of 
her  victims.  With  this  man-eating  tigress,  declared 
Lady  Kynnersley,  was  Dale  infatuated.  He  scorched 
himself  morning,  noon,  and  night  in  her  devastating 
presence.  Had  cut  himself  adrift  from  home,  from 
society.  Had  left  traihng  about  on  his  study  table 
a  jeweller's  bill  for  a  diamond  bracelet.  Was  com- 
mitting follies  that  made  my  brain  reel  to  hear.  Had 
threatened,  if  worried  much  longer,  to  marry  the 
Scarlet  One  incontinently.  Heaven  knew,  cried  Lady 
Kynnersley,  how  man},  husbands  she  had  already — 
scattered  along  the  track  between  Dublin  and  Yoko- 
hama.    There    was    no    doubt    about   it.      Dale   was 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  23 

hurtling  down  to  everlasting  bonfire.  She  looked  to 
me  to  hold  out  the  restraining  hand. 

"  You  have  already  spoken  to  Dale  on  the  subject  ?  " 
I  asked,  mindful  of  the  inharmonious  socks  and  tie. 

"  I  can  talk  to  him  of  nothing  else,"  said  Lady 
Kynnersley  desperately. 

"  That's  a  pity,"  said  I.  "  You  should  talk  to  him 
of  Heaven,  or  pigs,  or  Babylonic  cuneiform — anything 
but  Lola  Brandt.  You  ought  to  go  to  work  on  a 
different  system." 

"  But  I  haven't  a  system  at  all,"  cried  the  poor  lady. 
"  How  was  I  to  foresee  that  my  only  son  was  going  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  circus  rider  ?  These  are  contin- 
gencies in  life  for  which  one,  with  all  the  thought  in 
the  world,  can  make  no  provision.  I  had  arranged, 
as  you  know,  that  he  should  marry  Maisie  Ellerton, 
as  charming  a  girl  as  ever  there  was.  Isn't  she  ?  And 
an  independent  fortune  besides." 

"  A  rosebud  wrapped  in  gold  leaf,"  I  murmured. 

"  Now  he's  breaking  the  child's  heart " 

"  There  was  never  any  engagement  between  them, 
I  am  sure  of  that,"  I  remarked. 

"  There  wasn't.  But  I  gave  her  to  understand  it 
was  a  settled  affair — merely  a  question  of  Dale  speak- 
ing. And,  instead  of  speaking,  he  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her,  and  spends  all  his  time — and,  I  suppose, 
though  I  don't  like  to  refer  to  it,  all  his  money — in 
the  society  of  this  unmentionable  woman." 

"  Is  she  really  so — so  red  as  she  is  painted  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  She  isn't  painted  at  all.  That's  where  her  artful 
and  deceitful  devilry  comes  in " 

"  I  suppose  Dale,"  said  I,  "  declares  her  to  be  an 
angel  of  light  and  purity  ?  " 


24  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  An  angel  on  horseback  !     Whoever  heard  of  such 
a  thing  ?  " 

"  It's  the  name  of  rather  a  fiery  savoury,"  said  I. 

"  In  a  circus  !  "  she  continued. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  the  ring  of  a  circus  is  not  essentially 
one  of  the  circles  in  Dante's  Inferno." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  Simon,"  she  said,  with  some 
impatience,  "  if  you  defend  him " 

I  hastened  to  interrupt  her.     "  I  don't.     I  think  he 
is  an  egregious  young  idiot ;   but  before  taking  action 
it's  well  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  facts.     By  the  way,  - 
how  do  you  know  she's  not  painted  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  her — seen  her  with  my  own  eyes  in  Dale's 
company — at  the  Savoy.  He's  there  supping  with  her 
every  night.  General  Lament  told  me.  I  wouldn't 
beheve  it — Dale  flaunting  about  in  public  with  her. 
The  General  offered  to  take  me  there  after  the  inaugural 
meeting  of  the  International  Aid  Society  at  Grosvenor 
House.  I  went,  and  saw  them  together.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  look  in  the  boy's  eyes  till  my  dying  day. 
She  has  got  him  body  and  soul.  One  reads  of  such 
things  in  the  poets,  one  sees  it  in  pictures  ;  but  I've 
never  come  across  it  in  real  life — never,  never.  It's 
dreadful,  horrible,  revolting.  To  think  that  a  son  of 
mine,  brought  up  from  babyhood  to  calculate  all  his 
actions  with  mathematical  precision,  should  be  guilty 
of  this  profligacy  !  It's  driving  me  mad,  Simon  ;  it 
really  is.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I've  come  to 
the  end  of  my  resources.  It's  your  turn  now.  The 
boy  worships  you." 

A  wild  appeal  burned  in  her  eyes  and  was  refracted 
oddly  through  her  near-sighted  spectacles.  I  had 
never  seen  her  betray  emotion  before  during  all  the 
years  of  our  friendship.    The  look  and  the  tone  of 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  25 

her  voice  moved  me.  I  expressed  my  sympathy  and 
my  readiness  to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  snatch 
the  infatuated  boy  from  the  claw  and  fang  of  the  siren 
and  hale  him  to  the  forgiving  feet  of  Maisie  Ellerton. 
Indeed,  such  a  chivalrous  adventure  had  vaguely 
passed  through  my  mind  during  my  exalted  mood  at 
Murglebed-on-Sea.  But  then  I  knew  httle  beyond 
the  fact  that  Dale  was  fluttering  round  an  undesirable 
candle.  Till  now  I  had  no  idea  of  the  extent  to  which 
his  wings  were  singed. 

"  Hasn't  Dale  spoken  to  you  about  this  creature  ?  " 
his  mother  asked. 

"  Young  men  of  good  taste  keep  these  things  from 
Hheir  elders,  my  dear  Lady  Kynnersley,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  knew  of  it  ?  " 
•     "  In  a  dim  sort  of  way." 

"  Oh,  Simon " 

"  The  baby  boys  of  Dale's  set  regard  taking  out  the 
chorus  to  supper  as  a  solemn  religious  rite.  They 
wouldn't  think  themselves  respectable  if  they  didn't. 
I've  done  it  myself — in  moderation — when  I  was  very 
young." 

"  Men  are  mysteries,"  sighed  Lady  Kynnersley. 
"  Please  regard  them  as  such,"  said  I,  with  a  laugh, 
"  and  let  Dale  alone.  Allow  him  to  do  whatever 
irrational  thing  he  hkes,  save  bringing  the  lady  here 
to  tea.  If  you  try  to  tear  him  away  from  her  he'll 
only  chng  to  her  the  closer.  If  you  trumpet  abroad 
her  infamy  he'll  proclaim  her  a  slandered  and  martyred 
saint.     Leave  him  to  me  for  the  present." 

"  I'll  do  so  gladly,"  said  Lady  Kynnersley,  with 
surprising  meekness.  "  But  you  will  bring  him  back, 
Simon  ?  I've  arranged  for  him  to  marry  Maisie.  I 
can't  have  my  plan?  foi  his  future  upset." 


26  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

By-law  379  !  Dear,  excellent,  but  wooden-headed 
woman  ! 

"  I  have  your  promise,  haven't  I  ?  "  she  said,  her 
hand  in  mine. 

"  You  have,"  said  I  nobly. 

But  how  in  the  name  of  Astaroth  I'm  going  to  keep 
it  I  haven't  the  remotest  conception. 


CHAPTER  III 

Some  letters  in  Dale's  round  handwriting  lay  on  the 
library  tabic  awaiting  my  signature.  Dale  himself 
had  gone.  A  lady  had  called  for  him,  said  Rogers,  in 
an  electric  brougham.  As  my  chambers  are  on  the 
second  floor  and  the  staircase  half-way  down  the  arcade, 
Rogers's  detailed  information  surprised  me.  I  asked 
him  how  he  knew. 

"  A  chauffeur  in  livery,  sir,  came  to  the  door  and  said 
that  the  brougham  was  waiting  for  Mr.  Kynnersley." 

"  I  don't  see  how  the  lady  came  in,"  I  remarked. 

"  She  didn't,  sir.  She  remained  in  the  brougham," 
said  Rogers. 

So  Lola  Brandt  keeps  an  electric  brougham. 

I  lunched  at  the  club,  and  turned  up  the  article 
"  Lola  Brandt  "  in  the  living  encyclopsedia — that  was 
my  friend  Renniker.  The  wonderful  man  gave  me 
her  history  from  the  cradle  to  Cadogan  Gardens,  where 
she  now  resides.  I  must  say  that  his  details  were 
rather  vague.  She  rode  in  a  circus  or  had  a  talking 
horse — he  was  not  quite  sure  ;  and  concerning  her 
conjugal  or  extra-conjugal  heart  affairs  he  admitted 
that  his  information  was  either  unauthenticatedjor 
conjectural.  At  any  rate,  she  had  not  a  shred  of 
reputation.  And  she  didn't  want  it,  said]_Renniker  ; 
it  would  be  as  much  use  to  her  as  a  diving  suit. 

"  She.  '  has  young  Dale  Kynnersley  in  tow,"  he 
remarked. 

27 


28  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  So  I  gather,"  said  I.  "  And  now  can  you  tell  me 
something  else  ?  What  is  the  present  state  of  political 
parties  in  Guatemala  ?  " 

I  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  Guatemala  ;  but  I 
did  not  care  to  discuss  Dale  with  Renniker.  When  he 
had  completed  his  sketch  of  affairs  in  that  obscure 
republic,  I  thanked  him  pohtely  and  ordered  coffee. 

Feeling  in  a  gregarious,  companionable  humour — I 
have  had  enough  solitude  at  Murglebed  to  last  me  the 
rest  of  my  short  lifetime — I  went  later  in  the  afternoon 
to  Sussex  Gardens  to  call  on  Mrs.  Ellerton.  It  was  her 
day  at  home,  and  the  drawing-room  was  filled  with 
chattering  people.  I  stayed  until  most  of  them  were 
gone,  and  then  Maisie  dragged  me  to  the  inner  room, 
where  a  table  was  strewn  with  the  wreckage  of  tea. 

"  I  haven't  had  any,"  she  said,  grasping  the  teapot 
and  pouring  a  treacly  liquid  into  a  cup.  "  You  must 
have  some  more.     Do  you  hke  it  black,  or  with  milk  ?  " 

She  is  a  dainty  shp  of  a  girl,  with  deep  grey  eyes  and 
wavy  brown  hair  and  a  sea-shell  complexion.  I 
absently  swallowed  the  abomination  she  handed  me, 
for  I  was  looking  at  her  over  the  teacup  and  wondering 
how  an  exquisite-minded  gentleman  like  Dale  could 
forsake  her  for  a  Lola  Brandt.  It  is  not  as  if  Maisie 
were  an  empty-headed,  empty-natured  little  girl.  She 
is  a  young  person  of  sense,  education,  and  character. 
She  also  adores  musical  comedy  and  a  band  at  dinner  : 
an  excellent  thing  in  woman — when  she  is  very  young. 

"  Why  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because,  my  dear  Maisie,"  said  I,  "  you  are  good 
to  look  upon.     You  are  also  dropping  a  hairpin." 

She  hastily  secured  the  danghng  thing.  "  I  did  my 
hair  anyhow  to-day,"  she  explained. 

Again  I  thought  of  Dale's  tie  and  socks.     The  signs 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  29 

of  a  lover's  "  careless  desolation,"  described  by  Rosalind 
so  minutely,  can  still  be  detected  in  modern  youth  of 
both  sexes.     I  did  not  pursue  the  question,  but  alluded 
to    autumn    gaieties.     She    spoke    of    them    without 
enthusiasm.     Miss  Somebody's  wedding  was  very  dull, 
and  Mrs.   Somebody  Else's  dance  manned  with  vile 
and  vacuous  dancers.     At  the  Opera  the  greatest  of 
German  sopranos  sang  false.     All  human  institutions 
had  taken  a  crooked  turn,  and  her  cat  could  not  be 
persuaded   to   pay   the    commonest   attention   to    its 
kittens.     Then  she  asked  me  nonchalantly  : 
"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Dale  lately  ?  " 
"  He  was  working  with  me  this  morning.     I've  been 
away,  you  know." 
"  I  forgot." 

"  When  did  you  last  see  him  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Oh,  ages  ago  !     He  has  not  been  near  us  for  weeks. 
We  used  to  be  such  friends.     I  don't  think  it's  very 
pohte  of  him,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  order  him  to  call  forthwith,"  said  I. 
"  Oh,  please  don't  !     If  he  won't  come  of  his  own 
accord — I  don't  want  to  see  him  particularly." 

She  tossed  her  shapely  head  and  looked  at  me  bravely. 
"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  I.     "  Dale's  a  selfish, 
iU-mannered  young  cub." 

"  He  isn't  !  "  she  flashed.  "  How  dare  you  say  such 
things  about  him  !  " 

I  smiled  and  took  both  her  hands — one  of  them  held 
a  piece  of  brown  bread  and  butter. 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  model  yourself  on  Little  Bo- 
Peep.  I  don't  know  who  gave  her  the  famous  bit  of 
advice,  but  I  think  it  was  I  myself  in  a  pastoral  incar- 
nation. I  had  a  woolly  cloak  and  a  crook,  and  she 
was  like  a  Dresden  china  figure — the  image  of  you." 


30  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Her  eyes  swam,  but  she  laughed  and  said  I  was 
good  to  her.     I  said  : 

"  The  man  who  wouldn't  be  good  to  you  is  an  unhung 
viUain." 

Then  her  mother  joined  us,  and  our  httle  confidential 
talk  came  to  an  end.  It  was  enough,  however,  to 
convince  me  that  my  poor  little  Ariadne  was  shedding 
many  desperate  tears  in  secret  over  her  desertion. 

On  my  way  home  I  looked  in  on  my  doctor.  His 
name  is  Hunnington.  He  grasped  me  by  the  hand  and 
eagerly  inquired  whether  my  pain  was  worse.  I  said 
it  was  not.  He  professed  dehght,  but  looked  dis- 
appointed. I  ought  to  have  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
It  is  so  easy  to  make  others  happy. 

I  dined,  read  a  novel,  and  went  to  sleep  in  the  cheer- 
ful frame  of  mind  induced  by  the  consciousness  of 
having  made  some  httle  progress  on  the  path  of  eu- 
moiriety. 

The  next  morning  Dale  made  his  customary  appear- 
ance. He  wore  a  morning  coat,  a  dark  tie,  and  patent- 
leather  boots. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  have  you  dressed  more  carefully 
to-day  ?  " 

He  looked  himself  anxiously  over  and  inquired 
whether  there  was  anything  wrong.  I  assured  him  of 
the  impeccability  of  his  attire,  and  commented  on  its 
splendour. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  Maisie  out  to  lunch  ?  " 

He  started  and  reddened  beneath  his  dark  skin. 
Before  he  could  speak  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I'm  an  old  friend.  Dale.  You  mustn't  be  angry 
with  me.  But  don't  you  think  you're  treating  Maisie 
rather  badly  ?  " 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  so,"  he  burst  out  hotly. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  31 

"  No  one  has  the  right  to  say  so.  There  never  was  a 
question  of  an  engagement  between  Maisie  and  myself." 

"  Then  there  ought  to  have  been,"  I  said  judicially. 
"  No  decent  man  plays  fast  and  loose  with  a  girl  and 
throws  her  over  just  at  the  moment  when  he  ought 
to  be  asking  her  to  marry  him." 

*'  I  suppose  my  mother's  been  at  you.  That's  what 
she  wanted  to  see  you  about  yesterday.  I  wish  to 
God  she  would  mind  her  own  business." 

"  And,  a  fortiori,  that  I  would  mind  mine  ?  " 

Dale  did  not  reply.  For  some  odd  reason  he  is 
devotedly  attached  to  me,  and  respects  my  opinion  on 
worldly  matters.  He  walked  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  Presently,  without  turning  round,  he 
said  : 

"  I  suppose  she  has  been  rubbing  it  in  about  Lola 
Brandt  ?  " 

"  She  did  mention  the  lady's  name,"  said  I.  "  So 
did  Renniker  at  the  club.  I  suppose  every  one  you 
know  and  many  you  don't  are  mentioning  it." 

"  Well,  what  if  they  are  ?  " 

"  They're  creating  an  atmosphere  about  your  name 
which  is  scarcely  that  in  which  to  make  an  entrance 
into  public  life." 

Still  with  his  back  turned,  he  morosely  informed  me 
in  his  vernacular  that  he  contemplated  public  life 
with  feelings  of  indifference,  and  was  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  abandon  his  ambitions.  I  took  up  my 
parable,  the  same  old  parable  that  wise  seniors  have 
preached  to  the  deluded  young  from  time  immemorial. 
I  have  seldom  held  forth  so  platitudinously  even  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  I  spoke  as  impressively  as  a 
bishop.  In  the  midst  of  my  harangue  he  came  and 
sat  by  the  library  table  and  rested  his  chin  on  his 


32  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

palm,  looking  at  me  quietly  out  of  his  dark  eyes.  His 
mildness  encouraged  me  to  further  efforts.  I  instanced 
cases  of  other  young  men  of  the  world  who  had  gone 
the  way  of  the  flesh  and  had  ended  at  the  devil. 

There  was  Paget,  of  the  Guards,  eaten  to  the  bone 
by  the  Syren — not  even  the  gold  lace  on  his  uniform 
left.  There  was  Merridew,  once  the  hope  of  the  party, 
now  living  in  ignoble  obscurity  with  an  old  and  painted 
mistress,  whom  he  detested,  but  to  whom  habit  and 
sapped  will-power  kept  him  in  thrall.  There  was 
Bullen,  who  blew  his  brains  out.  In  a  generous  glow  I 
waxed  prophetic  and  drew  a  vivid  picture  of  Dale's 
moral,  mental,  physical,  financial,  and  social  ruin,  and 
finished  up  in  a  masterly  peroration. 

Then,  without  moving,  he  calmly  said  : 

"  My  dear  Simon,  you  are  talking  through  your 
hat  !  " 

He  had  allowed  me  to  walk  backwards  and  forwards 
on  the  hearthrug  before  a  blazing  fire,  pouring  out  the 
wealth  of  my  wisdom,  experience,  and  rhetoric  for  ten 
minutes  by  the  clock,  and  then  coolly  informed  me  that 
I  was  talking  through  my  hat. 

I  wiped  my  forehead,  sat  down,  and  looked  at  him 
across  the  table  in  surprise  and  indignation. 

"  If  you  can  point  out  one  irrelevant  or  absurd 
remark  in  my  homily,  I'll  eat  the  hat  through  which 
you  say  I'm  talking." 

"  The  whole  thing  is  rot  from  beginning  to  end  !  " 
said  he.  "  None  of  you  good  people  know  anything  at 
all  about  Lola  Brandt.  She's  not  the  sort  of  woman 
you  think.  She's  quite  different.  You  can't  judge 
her  by  ordinary  standards.  There's  not  a  woman 
like  her  in  the  wide  world  !  " 

I  made  a  gesture  of  discouragement.     The  same  old 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  33 

parable  of  the  wise  had  evoked  the  same  old  retort 
from  the  deluded  young.  She  was  quite  different  from 
other  women.  She  was  misunderstood  by  the  cynical 
and  gross-minded  world.  A  heart  of  virgin  purity 
beat  beneath  her  mercenary  bosom.  Her  lurid  past 
had  been  the  reiterated  martyrdom  of  a  noble  nature. 
O  Golden  Age  !  O  Heyday  of  Illusion  !  O  Swantide 
of  Geese  !     O  unutterable  silliness  of  Boyhood  ! 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  in  that  way  !  "  he 
cried  (I  had  been  talking  that  way),  and  he  rose  and 
walked  hke  a  young  tiger  about  the  room.  "  I  can't 
stand  it.  I've  gone  mad  about  her.  She  has  got  into 
my  blood  somehow.  I  think  about  her  all  day  long, 
and  I  can't  sleep  at  night.  I  would  give  up  any 
mortal  thing  on  earth  for  her.  She  is  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  me  !  She's  the  dearest,  sweetest, 
tenderest,  most  beautiful  creature  God  ever  made  !  " 

"  And  you  honour  and  respect  her — just  as  you 
would  honour  and  respect  Maisie  ?  "  I  asked  quietly. 

"  Of  course  I  do  !  "  he  flashed.  "  Don't  I  tell  you 
that  you  know  nothing  whatever  about  her  ?     She  is 

the  dearest,  sweetest "  &c.  &c.     And  he  continued 

to  trumpet  forth  the  Olympian  quaHties  of  the  Syren 
and  his  own  fervent  adoration.  I  was  the  only  being 
to  whom  he  had  opened  his  heart,  and,  the  flood-gates 
being  set  free,  the  torrent  burst  forth  in  this  tempes- 
tuous and  incoherent  manner.  I  let  him  go  on,  for  I 
thought  it  did  him  good  ;  but  his  rhapsody  added 
very  little  to  my  information. 

The  lady  who  had  "  houp-la'd  "  her  way  from  Dublin 
to  Yokohama  was  the  spotless  queen  of  beauty,  and 
Dale  was  frenziedly,  idiotically  in  love  with  her.  That 
was  all  I  could  gather.  When  he  had  finished,  which 
he  did    somewhat    abruptly,  he    threw  himself   into 

c 


34  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

a  chair  and  took  out  his  cigarette-case  with  shaky 
fingers. 

"  There.  I  suppose  I've  made  a  damn-fool  exhibition 
of  myself,"  he  said,  defiantly.  "  What  have  you  got 
to  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  I  replied,  "  what  I  said  before.  I'll 
repeat  it,  if  you  like." 

Indeed,  what  more  was  there  to  say  for  the  present 
about  the  lunatic  business  ?  I  had  come  to  the  end  of 
my  arguments. 

He  reflected  for  a  moment,  then  rose  and  came  over 
to  the  fireplace. 

*'  Look  here,  Simon,  you  must  let  me  go  my  own 
way  in  this.  In  matters  of  politics  and  worldly  wisdom 
and  social  affairs  and  honourable  dealing  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  I  would  follow  you  blindly.  You're  my 
chief,  and  a  kind  of  elder  brother  as  well.  I  would  do 
any  mortal  thing  for  you.  You  know  that.  But 
you've  no  right  to  try  to  guide  me  in  this  matter.  You 
know  no  more  about  it  than  my  mother.  You've  had 
no  experience.  You've  never  let  yourself  go  about  a 
woman  in  your  life.  Lord  of  Heaven,  man,  you  have 
never  begun  to  know  what  it  means  !  " 

Oh,  dear  me  !  Here  was  a  situation  as  old  as  the 
return  of  the  Prodigal  or  the  desertion  of  the  trusting 
village  maiden,  or  any  other  cliche  in  the  melodrama 
of  real  life.  "  You  are  making  a  fool  of  yourself," 
says  Mentor.  '*  Ah,"  shrieks  Telemachus,  "  but  you 
never  loved  !     You  don't  know  what  love  is." 

I  looked  at  him  whimsically. 

"  Don't  I  ?  " 

My  thoughts  sped  back  down  the  years  to  a  garden 
in  France.  Her  name  was  Clothilde.  We  met  in  a 
manner  outrageous  to  Galhc  propriety,  as  I  used  to 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  35 

climb  over  the  garden  wall  to  the  peril  of  my  epidermis. 
We  loved.  We  were  parted  by  stern  parents — not 
mine — and  Clothilde  was  packed  off  to  the  good  Sisters 
who  had  previously  had  care  of  her  education.  Now 
she  is  fat  and  happy,  and  the  wife  of  a  banker  and  the 
mother  of  children. 

But  the  romance  was  sad  and  bad  and  mad  enough 
while  it  lasted  ;  and  when  Clothilde  was  (figuratively) 
dragged  from  my  arms  I  cursed  and  swore  and  out- 
Heroded  Herod,  played  Termagant,  and  summoned 
the  heavens  to  fall  down  and  crush  me  miserable 
beneath  their  weight.  And  then  her  brother  challenged 
me  to  fight  a  duel,  whereupon,  as  the  most  worshipped 
of  all  She's  had  not  received  a  ha'porth  of  harm  at  my 
hands,  I  called  him  a  silly  ass  and  threatened  to  break 
his  head  if  he  interfered  any  more  in  my  legitimate 
despair.  I  smile  at  it  now  ;  but  it  was  real  at  two- 
and-twenty — as  real,  I  take  it,  as  Dale's  consuming 
passion  for  the  lady  of  the  circus. 

There  was  also,  I  remembered,  a  certain But 

this  had  nothing  to  do  with  Dale.  Neither  had  the 
tragedy  of  my  lost  Clothilde.  The  memories,  how- 
ever, brought  a  wistful  touch  of  sympathy  into  my 
voice. 

"  You  soberly  think,  my  dear  old  Dale,"  said  I, 
"  that  I  know  nothing  of  love  and  passion  and  the  rest 
of  the  divine  madness  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  don't,"  he  cried,  with  an  impatient 
gesture.     "  If  you  did,  you  wouldn't " 

He  came  to  an  abrupt  and  confused  halt. 

"  I  wouldn't— what  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  forget  what  I  was  going  to  say.  Let 
us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  It  was  on  the  tip  of  your  impulsive  tongue,"  said 


36  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  cheerfully,  "  to  refer  to  my  attitude  towards  Miss 
Faversham." 

"  I'm  desperately  sorry,"  said  he,  reddening.  "  It 
was  unpardonable.     But  how  did  you  guess  ?  " 

I  laughed,  and  quoted  the  Latin  tag  about  the  in- 
genuous boy  of  the  ingenuous  visage  and  ingenuous 
modesty. 

"  Because  I  don't  feverishly  search  the  postbag  for 
a  letter  from  Miss  Faversham  you  conclude  I'm  a 
bloodless  automaton  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  say  any  more  about  it,  Simon,"  he 
pleaded  in  deep  distress. 

A  sudden  idea  struck  me.  I  reflected,  walked  to  the 
window,  and,  having  made  up  my  mind,  sat  down 
again.  I  had  a  weapon  to  hand  which  I  had  over- 
looked, and  with  the  discovery  came  a  weak  craving 
for  the  boy's  sympathy.  I  believe  I  care  more  for 
him  than  for  any  living  creature.  I  decided  to  give 
him  some  notion  of  my  position. 

Sooner  or  later  he  would  have  to  learn  it. 

"  I  would  rather  like  to  tell  you  something,"  said  I, 
"  about  my  engagement — in  confidence,  of  course. 
When  Eleanor  Faversham  comes  back  I  propose  to 
ask  her  to  release  me  from  it." 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I'm  glad.  She's  an  awfully 
nice  girl,  but  she's  no  more  in  love  with  you  than  my 
mother  is.     But  it'll  be  rather  difficult,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  I  replied,  shaking  my  head. 
"  It's  a  question  of  health.  My  doctors  absolutely 
forbid  it." 

A  look  of  affectionate  alarm  sprang  into  his  eyes.  He 
broke  into  sympathy.  My  health  ?  Why  had  I  not 
told  him  before  ?  In  Heaven's  name,  what  w^as  the 
matter  with  me  ? 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  37 

"  Something  silly,"  said  I.  "  Nothing  you  need 
worry  about  on  my  account.  Only  I  must  go  piano 
for  the  rest  of  my  days.  Marriage  isn't  to  be  thought 
of.  There  is  something  else  I  must  tell  you.  I  must 
resign  my  seat." 

"  Resign  your  seat  ?  Give  up  Parliament  ? 
When  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

He  looked  at  me  aghast,  as  if  the  world  were  coming 
to  an  end. 

"  We  had  better  concoct  an  epistle  to  Raggles  this 
morning." 

"  But  you  can't  be  serious  ?  " 
"  I  can  sometimes,  my  dear  Dale.     This  is  one  of 
the  afflicting  occasions." 

"  You  out  of  Parliament  ?  You  out  of  public  Hfe  ? 
It's  inconceivable.  It's  damnable.  But  you're  just 
coming  into  your  own — what  Raggles  said,  what  I 
told  you  yesterday.  But  it  can't  be.  You  can  hold 
on.  I'll  do  aU  the  drudgery  for  you.  I'll  work  night 
and  day." 

And  he  tramped  up  and  down  the  room,  uttering 
the  disconnected  phrases  which  an  honest  young  soul 
unaccustomed  to  express  itself  emotionally  blurts  out 
in  moments  of  deep  feehng. 

"  It's  no  use,  Dale,"  said  I,  "  I've  got  my  marching 
orders." 

"  But  why  should  they  come  just  now  ?  " 
"  When  the  sweets  of  office  are  dangling  at  my  Hps  ? 
It's  pretty  simple."  I  laughed.  "  It's  one  of  the 
httle  ironies  that  please  the  high  gods  so  immensely. 
They  have  an  elementary  sense  of  humour — hke  that 
of  the  funny  fellow  who  pulls  your  chair  from  under 
you  and  shrieks  with  laughter  when  you  go  wallop  on 


38  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

to  the  floor.  Well,  I  don't  grudge  them  their  amuse- 
ment. They  must  have  a  dull  time  setthng  mundane 
affairs,  and  a  little  joke  goes  a  long  way  with  them,  as 
it  does  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Fancy  sitting  on 
those  green  benches  legislating  for  all  eternity,  with 
never  a  recess  and  never  even  a  dinner  hour  !  Poor 
high  gods  !     Let  us  pity  them." 

I  looked  at  him  and  smiled,  perhaps  a  little  wearily. 
One  can  always  command  one's  eyes,  but  one's  lips 
sometimes  get  out  of  control.  He  could  not  have 
noticed  my  hps,  however,  for  he  cried  : 

"  By  George,  you're  splendid  !  I  wish  I  could  take 
a  knock-out  blow  like  that  !  " 

"  You'll  have  to  one  of  these  days.  It's  the  only 
way  of  taking  it.  And  now,"  said  I,  in  a  business-like 
tone,  "  I've  told  you  all  this  with  a  purpose.  At 
Wymington  it  will  be  a  case  of  '  Le  Roi  est  mort.  Vive 
le  Roi  I '  The  vacancy  will  have  to  be  filled  up  at 
once.  We'll  have  to  find  a  suitable  candidate.  Have 
you  one  in  your  mind  ?  " 

"  Not  a  soul." 

"  I  have." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  You." 

"  Me  ?  "  He  nearly  sprang  into  the  air  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  They'd  never  adopt  me." 

"  I  think  they  would,"  I  said.  "  There  are  men  in 
the  House  as  young  as  you.  You're  well  known  at 
Wymington  and  at  headquarters  as  my  right-hand 
man.  You've  done  some  speaking — you  do  it  rather 
well  ;  it's  only  your  private  conversational  style  that's 
atrocious.     You've  got  a  name  famihar  in  pubhc  life 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  39 

up  and  down  the  country,  thanks  to  your  father  and 
mother.  It's  a  fairly  safe  seat.  I  see  no  reason  why 
they  shouldn't  adopt  you.     Would  you  Hke  it  ?  '* 

"  Like  it  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why,  I'd  give  my  ears  for 
it." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  playing  my  winning  card,  "  let  us 
hear  no  more  about  Lola  Brandt." 

He  gave  me  a  swift  glance,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  for  a  while  in  silence.  Presently  he  halted 
in  front  of  me, 

"  Look  here,  Simon,  you're  a  beast,  but  "—he  smiled 
frankly  at  the  quotation—"  you're  a  just  beast.  You 
oughtn't  to  rub  it  in  hke  that  about  Lola  until  you 
have  seen  her  yourself.     It  isn't  fair." 

"  You  speak  now  in  language  distinctly  approaching 
that  of  reason,"  I  remarked.  "  What  do  you  want  me 
to  do  ?  " 

"  Come  with  me  this  afternoon  and  see  her." 

My  young  friend  had  me  nicely  in  the  trap.  I  could 
not  refuse. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  *'  But  on  the  distinct  under- 
standing  " 

"  Oh,  on  any  old  understanding  you  Uke  !  "  he  cried, 
and  darted  to  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  ring  her  up  on  the  telephone  and  tell  her  you're 
coming." 

That's  the  worst  of  the  young.  They  have  such  a 
disconcerting  manner  of  chnching  one's  undertakings. 


CHAPTER  IV 

My  first  impression  of  Lola  Brandt  in  the  dimness  of 
the  room  was  that  of  a  Hthe  panther  in  petticoats  rising 
lazily  from  the  depths  of  an  easy  chair.  A  sinuous 
action  of  the  arm,  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  welcome 
me,  was  accompanied  by  a  curiously  flexible  turn  of 
the  body.  Her  hand  as  it  enveloped,  rather  than 
grasped,  mine  seemed  boneless  but  exceedingly  power- 
ful. An  indoor  dress  of  brown  and  gold  striped  Indian 
silk  clung  to  her  figure,  which,  largely  built,  had  an 
appearance  of  great  strength.  Dark  bronze  hair  and 
dark  eyes,  that  in  the  soft  light  of  the  room  glowed 
with  deep  gold  reflections,  completed  the  pantherine 
suggestion.  She  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  thirty. 
A  most  dangerous  woman,  I  decided — one  to  be  shut 
up  in  a  cage  with  thick  iron  bars. 

"  It's   charming   of   you   to   come.     I've   heard   so 
much  of  you  from  Mr.  Kynnersley.     Do  sit  down," 

Her  voice  was  lazy  and  languorous  and  caressing  like 

the  purr  of  a  great  cat  ;  and  there  was  something  exotic 

in  her  accent,   something  seductive,   something  that 

ought  to  be  prohibited  by  the  police.     She  sank  into 

her  low  chair  by  the  fire,  indicating  one  for  me  square 

with  the  hearthrug.     Dale,  so  as  to  leave  me  a  fair 

conversational  field  \vith  the  lady,  established  himself 

on  the  sofa  some  distance  off,  and  began  to  talk  with 

a  Chow  dog,  with  whom  he  was  obviously  on  terms  of 

familiarity.     Madame  Brandt  made  a  remark  about 

40 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  41 

the  Chow  dog's  virtues,  to  which  I  pohtely  rephed. 
She  put  him  through  several  tricks.  I  admired  his 
talent.  She  declared  her  affections  to  be  divided 
between  Adolphus  (that  was  the  Chow  dog's  name) 
and  a  ouistiti,  who  was  confined  to  bed  for  the  present 
owing  to  the  evil  qualities  of  the  November  air.  For 
the  first  time  I  blessed  the  Enghsh  chmate.  I  hate  little 
monkeys.  I  also  felt  a  queer  disappointment.  A  woman 
Hke  that  ought  to  have  caught  an  ourang-outang. 

She  guessed  my  thought  in  an  uncanny  manner,  and 
smiled,  showing  strong,  white,  even  teeth — the  most 
marvellous  teeth  I  have  ever  beheld — so  even  as  to 
constitute  almost  a  deformity. 

"  I'm  fonder  of  bigger  animals,"  she  said.  *'  I  was 
bom  among  them.  My  father  was  a  lion-tamer,  so  I 
know  all  the  ways  of  beasts.  I  love  bears — I  once 
trained  one  to  drive  a  cart — but  " — with  a  sigh — "  you 
can't  keep  bears  in  Cadogan  Gardens." 

"  You  may  get  hold  of  a  human  one  now  and  then," 
said  Dale. 

"  I've  no  doubt  Madame  Brandt  could  train  him  to 
dance  to  whatever  tune  she  played,"  said  I. 

She  turned  her  dark  golden  eyes  lazily,  slumberously 
on  me. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  Mr.  de  Gex  ?  " 

This  was  disconcerting.  Why  had  I  said  it  ?  For 
no  particular  reason,  save  to  keep  up  a  commonplace 
conversation  in  which  I  took  no  absorbing  interest. 
It  was  a  direct  challenge.  Young  Dale  stopped  playing 
with  the  Chow  dog  and  grinned.  It  behoved  me  to 
say  something.  I  said  it,  with  a  bow  and  a  wave  of 
my  hand  : 

"  Because,  though  your  father  was  a  lion-tamer, 
your  mother  was  a  woman." 


42  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

She  appeared  to  reflect  for  a  moment ;  then  address- 
ing Dale  : 

"  The  answer  doesn't  amount  to  a  ha'porth  of  cats'- 
meat,  but  you  couldn't  have  got  out  of  it  like  that." 

I  was  again  disconcerted,  but  I  remarked  that  he 
would  learn  in  time  when  my  mentorship  was  over  and 
I  handed  him,  a  finished  product,  to  society. 

"  How  long  will  that  be  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  Are  you  anxious  for  his  immediate 
perfecting  ?  " 

Her  shoulders  gave  what  in  ordinary  women  would 
have  been  a  shrug  :  with  her  it  was  a  slow  ripple.  I 
vow  if  her  neck  had  been  bare  one  could  have  seen  it 
undulate  beneath  the  skin. 

"  What  is  perfection  ?  " 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  "  laughed  Dale.  "  Behold  !  "  And 
he  pointed  to  me. 

"  That's  cheap,"  said  the  lady.  "  I've  heard 
Auguste  say  cleverer  things." 

"  Who's  Auguste  ?  "  asked  Dale. 

"  Auguste,"  said  I,  "  is  the  generic  name  of  the  clown 
in  the  French  Hippodrome." 

"  Oh,  the  Circus  !  "  cried  Dale. 

"  I'll  be  glad  if  you'll  teach  him  to  call  it  the  Hippo- 
drome, Mr.  de  Gex,"  she  remarked,  with  another  of 
her  slumberous  glances. 

"  That  will  be  one  step  nearer  perfection,"  said  I. 

The  short  November  twilight  had  deepened  into 
darkness  ;  the  fire,  which  was  blazing  when  we  entered, 
had  settled  into  a  glow,  and  the  room  was  ht  by  one 
shaded  lamp.  To  me  the  dimness  was  restful,  but 
Dale,  who,  with  the  crude  instincts  of  youth,  loves 
glare,  began  to  fidget,  and  presently  asked  whether 
he  might  turn  on  the  electric  light.     Permission  was 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  43 

given.  My  hostess  invited  me  to  smoke  and  to  hand 
her  a  box  of  cigarettes  which  lay  on  the  mantelpiece. 
I  rose,  bent  over  her  while  she  lit  her  cigarette  from 
my  match,  and,  resuming  an  upright  position,  became 
rooted  to  the  hearthrug. 

With  the  flood  of  illumination,  disclosing  everything 
that  hitherto  had  been  wrapped  in  shadow  and 
mystery,  came  a  shock. 

It  was  a  most  extraordinary,  perplexing  room.  The 
cheap  and  the  costly,  the  rare  and  the  common,  the 
exquisite  and  the  tawdry  jostled  one  another  on  walls 
and  floor.  At  one  end  of  the  Louis  XVI.  sofa  on  which 
Dale  had  been  sitting  lay  a  boating  cushion  covered 
with  a  Union  Jack,  at  the  other  a  cushion  covered  with 
old  Moorish  embroidery.  The  chair  I  had  vacated  I 
discovered  to  be  of  old  Spanish  oak  and  stamped  Cor- 
dova leather  bearing  traces  of  a  coat-of-arms  in  gold. 
My  hostess  lounged  in  a  low  characterless  seat 
amid  a  mass  of  heterogenous  cushions.  There  were 
many  flowers  in  the  room — some  in  cloisonn6  vases, 
others  in  gimcrack  vessels  such  as  are  bought  at 
country  fairs.  On  the  mantelpiece  and  on  tables 
were  mingled  precious  ivories  from  Japan,  trumpery 
chalets  from  the  Tyrol,  choice  bits  of  Sevres  and  Vene- 
tian glass,  bottles  with  ladders  and  little  men  inside 
them,  vulgar  china  fowls  sitting  on  eggs,  and  a  thousand 
restless  little  objects  screeching  in  dumb  agony  at 
one  another. 

The  more  one  looked  the  more  confounded  became 
confusion.  Lengths  of  beautifully  embroidered  Chinese 
silk  formed  curtains  for  the  doors  and  windows ; 
but  they  were  tied  back  with  cords  ending  in 
horrible  little  plush  monkeys  in  heu  of  tassels,  A 
Second  Empire  gilt  mirror  hung  over  the  Louis  XVI. 


44  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

sofa,  and  was  flanked  on  the  one  side  by  a  villainous 
German  print  of  "  The  Huntsman's  Return  "  and  on 
the  other  by  a  dainty  water-colour.     Myriads  of  photo- 
graphs, some  in  frames,  met  the  eye  everywhere — on 
the   grand   piano,   on   the   occasional  tables,   on   the 
mantelpiece,  stuck  obliquely  all  round  the  Queen  Anne 
mirror  above  it,  on  the  walls.  Many  of  them  represented 
animals — bears  and  lions  and  pawing  horses.     Dale's 
photograph  I  noticed  in  a  silver  frame  on  the  piano. 
There  was  not  a  book  in  the  place.     But  in  the  comer 
of  the  room  by  a  farther  window  gleamed  a  large 
marble  Venus  of  Milo,  charmingly  executed,  who  stood 
regarding  the  welter  with  eyes  calm  and  unconcerned. 
I  was  aroused  from  the  momentary  shock  caused  by 
the  revelation  of  this  eccentric  apartment  by  an  un- 
known nauseous  flavour  in  my  mouth.     I  realised  it  was 
the  cigarette  to  which  I  had  helped  myself  from  the 
beautifully  chased  silver  casket  I  had  taken  from  the 
mantelpiece.     I  eyed  the  thing,  and  concluded  it  was 
made  of  the  very  cheapest  tobacco,  and  was  what  the 
street  urchin  calls  a  "  fag."     I  learned  afterwards  that 
I  was  right.     She  purchased  them  at  the  rate  of  six  for 
a  penny,  and  smoked  them  in  enormous  quantities.    For 
politeness'  sake  I  continued  to  puff  at  the  unclean  thing 
until   I   nearly  made  myself  sick.     Then,   simulating 
absent-mindedness,  I  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

Why,  in  the  sacred  name  of  Nicotine,  does  a  luxurious 
lady  like  Lola  Brandt  smoke  such  unutterable  garbage  ? 
On  the  other  hand,  the  tea  which  she  offered  us  a  few 
minutes  later,  and  begged  us  to  drink  without  milk,  was 
the  most  exquisite  I  have  tasted  outside  Russia.  She 
informed  us  that  she  got  it  direct  from  Moscow. 

"  I  can't  stand  your  black  Ceylon  tea,"  she  remarked, 
with  a  grimace, 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  45 

And  yet  she  could  smoke  "  fags."  I  wondered  what 
other  contradictious  tastes  she  possessed.  No  doubt 
she  could  eat  blood  puddings  with  relish  and  had  a  dis- 
criminating palate  for  claret.      Truly,  a  perplexing  lady. 

"  You  must  find  leisure  in  London  a  great  change 
after  your  adventurous  career,"  said  I,  by  way  of  polite 
conversation. 

"  I  just  love  it.  I'm  as  lazy  as  a  cat,"  she  said,  set- 
tling with  her  pantherine  grace  among  the  cushions. 
"  Do  you  know  what  has  been  my  ambition  ever  since  I 
was  a  kid  ?  " 

"  Whatever  of  woman's  ambitions  you  had  you  must 
have  attained,"  said  I,  with  a  bow. 

"  Pooh  !  "  she  said.  "  You  mean  that  I  can  have 
crowds  of  men  falling  in  love  with  me.  That's  rub- 
bish." She  was  certainly  frank.  "  I  meant  something 
quite  different.  I  wonder  whether  you  can  understand. 
The  world  used  to  seem  divided  into  two  classes  that 
never  met — we  performing  people  and  the  public,  the 
thousand  white  faces  that  looked  at  us  and  went  away 
and  talked  to  other  white  faces  and  forgot  all  about 
performing  animals  till  they  came  next  time.  Now  I've 
got  what  I  wanted.     See  ?     I'm  one  of  the  public." 

"  And  you  love  Philistia  better  than  Bohemia  ?  "  I 
asked. 

She  knitted  her  brows  and  looked  at  me,  puzzled. 

"  If  you  want  to  talk  to  me,"  she  said,  "  you  must 
talk  straight.  I've  had  no  more  education  than  a 
tinker's  dog." 

She  made  this  peculiar  announcement,  not  defiantly, 
not  rudely,  but  appealingly,  graciously.  It  was  not  a 
rebuke  for  priggishness  ;  it  was  the  unresentable  state- 
ment of  a  fact.  I  apologised  for  a  lunatic  habit  of 
speech  and  paraphrased  my  question. 


46  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  In  a  word,"  cried  Dale,  coming  in  on  my  heels  with 
an  elucidation  of  my  periphrasis,  "  what  de  Gex  is 
driving  at  is — Do  you  prefer  respectability  to  ramping 
round  ?  " 

She  turned  slowly  to  him.  "  My  dear  boy,  when  do 
you  think  I  was  not  respectable  ?  " 

He  jumped  from  the  sofa  as  if  the  Chow  dog  had 
bitten  him. 

"  Good  Heavens,  I  never  meant  you  to  take  it  that 
way  !  " 

She  laughed,  stretched  up  a  lazy  arm  to  him,  and 
looked  at  him  somewhat  quizzically  in  the  face  as  he 
kissed  her  finger-tips.  Although  I  could  have  boxed 
the  silly  fellow's  ears,  I  vow  he  did  it  in  a  very  pretty 
fashion.  The  young  man  of  the  day,  as  a  general  rule, 
has  no  more  notion  how  to  kiss  a  woman's  hand  than 
how  to  take  snuff  or  dance  a  pavane.  Indeed,  lots  of 
them  don't  know  how  to  kiss  a  girl  at  all. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  was  much  more  respect- 
able sitting  on  the  stage  at  tea  with  my  horse,  Sultan, 
than  supping  with  you  at  the  Savoy.  You  don't 
know  the  deadly  respectability  of  most  people  in  the 
profession,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  while  we're  being 
utterly  dull  and  dowdy,  the  public  think  we're  having  a 
devil  of  a  time.  So  we  don't  even  get  the  credit  of  our 
virtues.  I  prefer  the  Savoy — and  this."  She  turned 
to  me.  "  It  is  nice  having  decent  people  to  tea.  Do 
you  know  what  I  should  love  ?  I  should  love  to  have 
an  At  Home  day — and  receive  ladies,  real  ladies.  And 
I  have  such  a  sweet  place,  haven't  I  ?  " 

"  You  have  many  beautiful  things  around  you,"  said 
I  truthfully. 

She  sighed.  "  I  should  like  more  people  to  see 
them." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  47 

"  In  fact,"  said  I,  "  you  have  social  ambitions, 
Madame  Brandt  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  out  of  the  comer  of 
her  eye. 

"  Are  you  skinning  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

Where  she  had  picked  up  this  eccentric  metaphor  I 
know  not.  She  had  many  odd  turns  of  language  as  yet 
not  current  among  the  fashionable  classes.  I  gravely 
assured  her  that  I  was  not  sarcastic.  I  commended  her 
praiseworthy  aspirations. 

"  But,"  said  I  innocently,  "  don't  you  miss  the  hard 
training,  the  physical  exercise,  the  delight  of  motion, 

the  excitement,  the ?  " — my  vocabulary  failing  me, 

I  sketched  with  a  gesture  the  equestrienne's  classical 
encouragement  to  her  steed. 

She  looked  at  me  uncomprehendingly. 

"  The  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  are  you  playing  at  ?  "  inquired  Dale. 

"  I  was  referring  to  the  ring,"  said  I. 

They  both  burst  out  laughing,  to  my  discomfiture. 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  A  circus  rider  ?  Per- 
forming in  a  tent  and  living  in  a  caravan  ?  You  think 
I  jump  through  a  hoop  in  tights  ?  " 

"  All  I  can  say,"  I  murmured,  by  way  of  apology, 
"  is  that  it's  a  mendacious  world.  I'm  deeply 
sorry." 

Why  had  I  been  misled  in  this  shameful  manner  ? 

Madame  Brandt  with  lazy  good  nature  accepted  my 
excuses. 

"  I'm  what  is  professionally  known  as  a  dotnpteuse," 
she  explained.  "Of  course  when  I  was  a  kid  I  was 
trained  as  an  acrobat,  for  my  father  was  poor  ;  but 
when  he  grew  rich  and  the  owner  of  animals,  which  he 
did  when  I  was  fourteen,  I  joined  him  and  worked  with 


48  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

him  all  over  the  world  until  I  went  on  my  own.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  never  heard  of  me  ?  " 

"  Madame  Brandt,"  said  I,  "the  last  thing  to  be 
astonished  at  is  human  ignorance.  Do  you  know  that 
30  per  cent,  of  the  French  army  at  the  present  day  have 
never  heard  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Simon,"  cried  Dale,  "  the  two  things  don't 
hang  together.  The  Franco-Prussian  War  is  not  ad- 
vertised all  over  France  like  Beecham's  Pills,  whereas 
six  years  ago  you  couldn't  move  two  steps  in  London 
without  seeing  posters  of  Lola  Brandt  and  her  horse 
Sultan." 

"  Ah,  the  horse  !  "  said  L  "  That's  how  the  wicked 
circus  story  got  about." 

"  It  was  the  last  act  I  ever  did,"  said  Madame  Brandt. 
"  I  taught  Sultan — oh,  he  was  a  dear,  beautiful  thing — 
to  count  and  add  up  and  guess  articles  taken  from  the 
audience.  I  was  at  the  Hippodrome.  Then  at  the 
Nouveau  Cirque  at  Paris  ;  I  was  at  St.  Petersburg, 
Vienna,  Berlin — all  over  Europe  with  Sultan." 

"  And  where  is  Sultan  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  is  dead.  Somebody  poisoned  him,"  she  replied, 
looking  into  the  fire.  After  a  pause  she  continued  in  a 
low  voice,  singularly  like  the  growl  of  a  wrathful  animal, 
"If  ever  I  meet  that  man  alive  it  will  go  hard  with 
him." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  the  servant 
announced  : 

"  Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  !  " 

Whereupon  the  shortest  creature  that  ever  bore  so 
lengthy  a  name,  a  dwarf  not  more  than  four  feet  high, 
wearing  a  frock-coat  and  bright  yellow  gloves,  entered 
the  room,  and  crossing  it  at  a  sort  of  trot  fell  on  his 
knees  by  the  side  of  Madame  Brandt's  chair. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  49 

"  Ah  !  Carissima,  je  vons  vols  enfin.  Ach  Itches  Herz  ! 
Que  j'ai  envie  de  pleiirer  !  " 

Madame  Brandt  smiled,  took  the  creature's  head 
between  her  hands  and  kissed  his  forehead.  She  also 
caressed  his  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  Anastasius,  how  good  it  is  to  see  you. 
Where  have  you  been  this  long  time  ?  Why  didn't  you 
write  and  let  me  know  you  were  in  England  ?  But,  see, 
Anastasius,  I  have  visitors.     Let  me  introduce  you." 

She  spoke  in  French  fluently,  but  with  a  frank  British 
accent,  which  grated  on  a  fastidious  ear.  The  dwarf 
rose,  made  two  solemn  bows,  and  declared  himself 
enchanted.  Although  his  head  was  too  large  for  his 
body,  he  was  neither  ill-made  nor  repulsive.  He  looked 
about  thirty-five.  A  high  forehead,  dark,  mournful 
eyes,  and  a  black  moustache  and  imperial  gave  him  an 
odd  resemblance  to  Napoleon  the  Third. 

"  I  arrived  from  New  York  this  morning,  with  my  cats. 
Oh,  a  mad  success.  I  have  one  called  Phcebus,  because 
he  drives  a  chariot  drawn  by  six  rats.  Phoebus  Apollo 
was  the  god  of  the  sun.  I  must  show  him  to  you, 
Madonna.  You  would  love  him  as  I  love  you.  And  I 
also  have  an  angora,  my  beautiful  Santa  Bianca.  And 
you,  gentlemen  " — he  turned  to  Dale  and  myself  and 
addressed  us  in  his  peculiar  jargon  of  French,  German, 
and  Italian — "  you  must  come  and  see  my  cats  if  I  can 
get  a  London  engagement.  At  present  I  must  rest. 
The  artist  needs  repose  sometimes.  I  will  sun  myself 
in  the  smiles  of  our  dear  lady  here,  and  my  pupil  and 
assistant,  Quast,  can  look  after  my  cats.  Meanwhile  the 
brain  of  the  artist,"  he  tapped  his  brow,  "  needs  to  lie 
fallow  so  that  he  can  invent  fresh  and  daring  combina- 
tions.    Do  such  things  interest  you,  ^lessieurs  ?  " 

"  Vastly,"  said  I. 


50  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

He  pulled  out  of  his  breast-pocket  an  enormous  gilt- 
bound  pocket-book,  bearing  a  gilt  monogram  of  such 
size  that  it  looked  like  a  cartouche  on  an  architectural 
panel,  and  selected  therefrom  three  cards  which  he 
gravely  distributed  among  us.     They  bore  the  legend  : 


PROFESSOR  ANASTASIUS  PAPADOPOULOS 

GOLD  AND  SILVER  MEDALLIST 

THE  CAT  KING 

LE   ROI  DES  CHATS 

DER   KATZEN   KONIG 

London  Agents  :  Messrs.  Conto  &  Blag, 

172  Maiden  Lane,  W.C. 


"  There,"  said  he,  "I  am  always  to  be  found,  should 
you  ever  require  my  services.  I  have  a  masterpiece  in 
my  head.  I  come  on  to  the  scene  like  Bacchus  drawn 
by  my  two  cats.  How  are  the  cats  to  draw  my  heavy 
weight  ?  I'll  have  a  noiseless  clockwork  arrangement 
that  will  really  propel  the  car.     You  must  come  and  see 

it." 

"  Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  said  Dale,  who  stood  looking 
down  on  the  Lilliputian  egotist  with  polite  wonder.  Lola 
Brandt  glanced  at  him  apologetically. 

"  You  mustn't  mind  him,  Dale.  He  has  only  two 
ideas  in  his  head,  his  cats  and  myself.     He's  devoted  to 

me. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  jealous,"  said  Dale  in  a  low 

voice. 

"  Foolish  boy  !  "  she  whispered. 

During  the  love  scene,  which  was  conducted  in 
English,  a  language  which  Mr.  Papadopoulos  evidently 
did  not  understand,  the  dwarf  scowled  at  Dale  and 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  51 

twirled  his  moustache  fiercely.  In  order  to  attract 
Madame  Brandt's  attention  he  fetched  a  packet  of 
papers  from  his  pocket  and  laid  them  with  a  flourish  on 
the  tea-table. 

"  Here  are  the  documents,"  said  he. 

"  What  documents  ?  " 

"  A  full  inquiry  into  the  circumstances  attending  the 
death  of  Madame  Brandt's  horse  Sultan." 

"  Have  you  found  out  anything,  Anastasius  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  the  indulgent  tone  in  which  one  addresses  an 
eager  child. 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  he.  "  But  I  have  a  conviction 
that  by  this  means  the  murderer  will  be  brought  to  jus- 
tice.    To  this  I  have  devoted  my  life — in  your  service." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  spot  of  his  tightly  buttoned 
frock-coat  that  covered  his  heart,  and  bowed  profoundly. 
It  was  obvious  that  he  resented  our  presence  and  desired 
to  wipe  us  out  of  our  hostess's  consideration.  I  glanced 
ironically  at  Dale's  disgusted  face,  and  smiled  at  the 
imperfect  development  of  his  sense  of  humour.  Indeed, 
to  the  young,  humour  is  only  a  weapon  of  offence.  It 
takes  the  philosopher  to  use  it  as  defensive  armour. 
Dale  burned  to  outdo  Mr.  Papadopoulos.  I,  having  no 
such  ambition,  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm  and  went  for- 
ward to  take  my  leave. 

"  Madame  Brandt,"  said  I,  "  old  friends  have  doubt- 
less much  to  talk  over.  I  thank  you  for  the  privilege 
you  have  afforded  me  of  making  your  acquaintance." 

She  rose  and  accompanied  us  to  the  landing  outside 
the  flat  door.  After  saying  good-bye  to  Dale,  who 
went  down  with  his  boyish  tread,  she  detained  me  for 
a  second  or  two,  holding  my  hand,  and  again  her  clasp 
enveloped  it  like  some  clinging  sea-plant.  She  looked 
at  me  very  wistfully. 


52  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

'*  The  next  time  you  come,  Mr.  de  Gex,  do  come  as 
a  friend  and  not  as  an  enemy." 

I  was  startled.  I  thought  I  had  conducted  the  inter- 
view with  peculiar  suavity. 

"  An  enemy,  dear  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Can't  I  see  it  ?  "  she  said  in  her  languorous, 
caressing  voice.  "  And  I  should  love  to  have  you  for  a 
friend.  You  could  be  such  a  good  one.  I  have  so 
few." 

"  I  must  argue  this  out  with  you  another  time,"  said 
I  diplomatically. 

"  That's  a  promise,"  said  Lola  Brandt. 

"  What's  a  promise  ?  "  asked  Dale,  when  I  joined  him 
in  the  hall. 

"  That  I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on 
Madame  again." 

The  porter  whistled  for  a  cab.  A  hansom  drove  up. 
As  my  destination  was  the  Albany,  and  as  I  knew  Dale 
was  going  home  to  Eccleston  Square,  I  held  out  my 
hand. 

"  Good-bye,  Dale.     I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  But  aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
her  ?  "  he  cried  in  great  dismay. 

The  pavement  was  muddy,  the  evening  dark,  and  a 
gusty  wind  blew  the  drizzle  into  our  faces.  It  is  only 
the  preposterously  young  who  expect  a  man  to  rhapso- 
dise over  somebody  else's  inamorata  at  such  a  moment. 
I  turned  up  the  fur  collar  of  my  coat. 

"  She  is  good-looking,"  said  I. 

"  Any  idiot  can  see  that !  "  he  burst  out  impatiently. 
"  I  want  to  know  what  opinion  you  formed  of  her." 

I  reflected.  If  I  could  have  labelled  her  as  the  Scarlet 
Woman,  the  Martyred  Saint,  the  Jolly  Bohemian,  or 
the  Bold  Adventuress,  my  task  would  have  been  easy. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  53 

But  I  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  Lola  Brandt 
was  not  to  be  classified  in  so  simple  a  fashion.  I  took 
refuge  in  a  negative. 

"  She  would  hardly  be  a  success,"  said  I,  "  in  serious 
political  circles." 

With  that  I  made  my  escape. 


CHAPTER  V 

I  WISH  I  had  not  called  on  Lola  Brandt.  She  disturbs 
me  to  the  point  of  nightmare.  In  a  fit  of  dream  para- 
lysis last  night  I  fancied  myself  stalked  by  a  panther, 
which  in  the  act  of  springing  turned  into  Lola  Brandt. 
What  she  would  have  done  I  know  not,  for  I  awoke ; 
but  I  have  a  haunting  sensation  that  she  was  about  to 
devour  me.  Now,  a  woman  who  would  devour  a  sleep- 
ing Member  of  Parliament  is  not  a  fit  consort  for  a  youth 
about  to  enter  on  a  political  career. 

The  woman  worries  me.  I  find  myself  speculating 
on  her  character  while  I  ought  to  be  minding  my  affairs  ; 
and  this  I  do  on  her  own  account,  without  any  reference 
to  my  undertaking  to  rescue  Dale  from  her  clutches. 
Her  obvious  attributes  are  lazy  good  nature  and  swift 
intuition,  which  are  as  contrary  as  her  tastes  in  tobacco 
and  tea ;  but  beyond  the  obvious  lurks  a  mysterious 
animal  power  which  repels  and  attracts.  Were  not 
her  expressions  rather  melancholy  than  sensuous,  rather 
benevolent  than  cruel,  one  might  take  her  as  a  model 
for  Queen  Berenice  or  the  estimable  lady  monarchs 
who  yielded  themselves  adorably  to  a  gentleman's 
kisses  in  the  evening  and  saw  to  it  that  his  head  was 
nicely  chopped  off  in  the  morning.  I  can  quite  under- 
stand Dale's  infatuation.  She  may  be  as  worthless  as 
you  please,  but  she  is  by  no  means  the  vulgar  syren  I 
was  led  to  expect.  I  wish  she  were.  My  task  would 
be  easier.     Why  hasn't  he  fallen  in  love  with  one  of  the 

54 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  55 

chorus  whom  his  congeners  take  out  to  supper  ?  He 
is  an  aggravating  fellow. 

I  have  declined  to  discuss  her  merits  or  demerits  with 
him.  I  could  scarcely  do  that  with  dignity,  said  I  ;  a 
remark  which  seemed  to  impress  him  with  a  sense  of  my 
honesty.  I  asked  what  were  his  intentions  regarding 
her.  I  discovered  that  they  were  still  indefinite.  In 
his  exalted  moments  he  talked  of  marriage. 

"  But  what  has  become  of  her  husband  ?  "  I  inquired; 
drawing  a  bow  at  a  venture. 

"  I  suppose  he's  dead,"  said  Dale. 

"  But  suppose  he  isn't  ?  " 

He  informed  me  in  his  young  magnificence  that  Lola 
and  himself  would  be  above  foolish  moral  conventions. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Don't  pretend  to  be  a  Puritan,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  like  the  idea,  anyhow,"  I 
remarked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was  not  the  time  for 
a  lecture  on  morality. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  the  lady  returns  your 
passion  ?  "  I  asked,  watching  him  narrowly. 

He  grew  red.     "  Is  that  a  fair  question  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  You  invited  me  to  call  on  .her  and 
judge  the  affair  for  myself.  I'm  doing  it.  How  far  have 
things  gone  up  to  now  ?  " 

He  flashed  round  on  me.  Did  I  mean  to  insinuate  that 
there  was  anything  wrong  ?  There  wasn't.  How  could 
I  dream  of  such  a  thing  ?     He  was  vastly  indignant. 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,"  said  I,  "  you've  just  this 
minute  been  scoffing  at  foolish  moral  conventions.  If 
you  want  to  know  my  opinion,"  I  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "  it  is  this — she  doesn't  care  a  scrap  for  you." 

Of  course  I  was  talking  nonsense. 


56  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  did  not  condescend  to  argue.  Neither  did  I  dwell  upon 
the  fact  that  her  affection  had  not  reached  the  point  of 
informing  him  whether  she  had  a  husband,  and  if  so, 
whether  he  was  alive  or  dead.  This  gives  me  an  idea. 
Suppose  I  can  prove  to  him  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt 
that  the  lady,  although  flattered  by  the  devotion  of  a 
handsome  young  fellow  of  birth  and  breeding,  does  not, 
as  I  remarked,  care  a  scrap  for  him.  Suppose  I  exhibit 
her  to  him  in  the  arms,  figuratively  speaking,  of  her 
husband  (providing  one  is  lurking  in  some  back-alley  of 
the  world),  Mr.  Anastasius  Papadopoulos,  a  curate,  or 
a  champion  wrestler.  He  would  do  desperate  things 
for  a  month  or  two  ;  but  then  he  would  wake  up  sane 
one  fine  morning  and  would  seek  out  Maisie  Ellerton  in 
a  salutary  state  of  penitence.  I  wish  I  knew  a  curate 
who  combined  a  passion  for  bears  and  a  yearning  for 
lady-like  tea-parties.  I  would  take  him  forthwith  to 
Cadogan  Gardens.  Lola  Brandt  and  himself  woald 
have  tastes  in  common  and  would  fall  in  love  with  each 
other  on  the  spot. 

Of  course  there  is  the  other  time-honoured  plan  which 
I  have  not  yet  tried — to  arm  myself  with  diplomacy, 
call  on  Madame  Brandt,  and,  working  on  her  feelings, 
persuade  her  in  the  name  of  the  boy's  mother  and  sweet- 
heart to  make  a  noble  sacrifice  in  the  good,  old-fashioned 
way.  But  this  seems  such  an  unhumorous  proceeding. 
If  I  am  to  achieve  eumoiriety  I  may  as  well  do  it  with 
some  distinction, 

"  Who  doth  Time  gallop  withal  ?  "  asks  Orlando. 

"  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows,"  says  Rosalind.  It  is 
true.  The  days  have  an  uncanny  way  of  racing  by.  I 
see  my  little  allotted  span  of  life  shrinking  visibly,  like 
the  peau  de  chagrin.      I   must  bestir  myself,  or  my 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  57 

last   day  will  come  before  I  have  accomplished  any- 
thing. 

When  I  jotted  down  the  above  not  very  original 
memorandum  I  had  passed  a  perfectly  uneumoirous 
week  among  my  friends  and  social  acquaintances.  I 
had  stood  godfather  to  my  sister  Agatha's  fifth  child, 
taking  upon  myself  obligations  which  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  perform  ;  I  had  dined  amusingly  at  my  sister 
Jane's  ;  I  had  shot  pheasants  at  Farfax  Glenn's  place  in 
Hampshire  ;  and  I  had  paid  a  long-promised  charming 
country-house  visit  to  old  Lady  Blackadder. 

When  I  came  back  to  town,  however,  I  consulted  my 
calendar  with  some  anxiety,  and  set  out  to  clear  my 
path, 

I  have  now  practically  withdrawn  from  political  life. 
Letters  have  passed  ;  complimentary  and  sympathetic 
gentlemen  have  interviewed  me  and  tried  to  weaken 
my  decision.  The  great  Raggles  has  even  called,  and 
dangled  the  seals  of  office  before  my  eyes.  I  said  they 
were  very  pretty.     He  thought  he  had  tempted  me. 

"  Hang  on  as  long  as  you  can,  for  the  sake  of  the 
Party." 

I  spoke  playfully  of  the  Party  (a  man  in  my  position, 
with  one  eye  on  Time  and  the  other  on  Eternity, 
develops  an  acute  sense  of  values)  and  Raggles  held 
up  horrified  hands.  To  Raggles  the  Party  is  the  Alpha 
and  Omega  of  things  human  and  divine.  It  is  the 
guiding  principle  of  the  Cosmos.  I  could  have  spoken 
disrespectfully  of  the  British  Empire,  of  which  he  has  a 
confused  notion  ;  I  could  have  dismissed  the  Trinity, 
on  which  his  ideas  are  vaguer,  with  an  airy  jest ;  in  the 
expression  of  my  views  concerning  the  Creator,  whom 
he  believes  to  be  under  the  Party's  protection,  I  could 


58  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

have  out-Pained  Tom  Paine,  out-Taxiled  Leo  Taxil,  and 
he  would  not  have  winced.  But  to  blaspheme  against 
the  Party  was  the  sin  for  which  there  was  no  redemp- 
tion. 

"  I  always  thought  you  a  serious  politician  !  "  he 
gasped. 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried.  "  In  my  public  utterances 
have  I  been  as  duU  as  that  ?  Ill-health  or  no,  it  is  time 
for  me  to  quit  the  stage." 

He  laughed  politely,  because  he  conjectured  I  was 
speaking  humorously — he  is  astute  in  some  things — 
and  begged  me  to  explain. 

I  replied  that  I  did  not  regard  mustard  poultices  as 
panaceas,  the  vox  populi  as  the  vox  Dei,  or  the  policy  of 
the  other  side  as  the  machinations  of  the  Devil ;  that 
politics  was  all  a  game  of  guess-work  and  muddle  and 
compromise  at  the  best ;  that,  at  the  worst,  as  during  a 
General  Election,  it  was  as  ignoble  a  pastime  as  the  wit 
of  man  had  devised.  To  take  it  seriously  would  be  the 
course  of  a  fanatic,  a  man  devoid  of  the  sense  of  propor- 
tion. Were  such  men,  I  asked,  fitted  to  govern  the 
country  ? 

He  did  not  stop  to  argue,  but  went  away  leaving  me 
the  conviction  that  he  thanked  his  stars  on  the  Govern- 
ment's providential  escape  from  so  maniacal  a  Minister. 
I  hope  I  did  not  treat  him  with  any  discourtesy ;  but, 
oh !  it  was  good  to  speak  the  truth  after  all  the  dismal 
lies  I  have  been  forced  to  tell  at  the  bidding  of  Raggles's 
Party.  Now  that  I  am  no  longer  bound  by  the  rules  of 
the  game,  it  is  good  to  feel  a  free,  honest  man. 

Never  again  shall  I  stretch  forth  my  arms  and 
thunder  invectives  against  well-meaning  people  with 
whom  in  my  heart  I  secretly  sympathise.  Never  again 
shall  I  plead  passionately  for  principles  which  a  horrible 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  59 

instinct  tells  me  are  fundamentally  futile.  Never  again 
shall  I  attempt  to  make  mountains  out  of  mole-hills  or 
bricks  without  straw  or  sunbeams  out  of  cucumbers. 

I  shall  conduct  no  more  inquiries  into  pauper  lunacy, 
thank  Heaven  !  And  as  for  the  public  engagements 
which  Dale  Kynnersley  made  for  me  during  my  Thebaid 
existence  at  Murglebed-on-Sea,  the  deuce  can  take  them 
all — I  am  free. 

I  only  await  the  stewardship  of  the  Chiltern  Hundreds, 
for  which  quaint  post  under  the  Crown  I  applied,  to 
cease  to  be  a  Member  of  Parliament.  And  yet,  in  spite 
of  all  my  fine  and  superior  talk,  I  am  glad  I  am  giving 
up  in  the  recess.  I  should  not  like  to  be  out  of  my  seat 
were  the  House  in  session. 

I  should  hate  to  think  of  all  the  fascinating  excite- 
ment over  nothing  going  on  in  the  lobbies  without  me, 
while  I  am  still  hale  and  hearty.  When  Parliament 
meets  in  February  I  shall  either  be  comfortably  dead  or 
so  uncomfortably  alive  that  I  shall  not  care. 

Ce  que  c'est  que  de  nous !  I  wonder  how  far  Simon 
de  Gex  and  I  are  deceiving  each  other  ? 

There  is  no  deception  about  my  old  friend  Latimer, 
who  called  on  me  a  day  or  two  ago.  He  is  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,  and,  muddle-headed  creature  that  he  is,  has 
been  "  bearing  "  the  wrong  things.  They  have  gone  up 
sky-high.  Settling-day  is  drawing  near,  and  how  to 
pay  for  the  shares  he  is  bound  to  deliver  he  has  not  the 
faintest  notion. 

He  stamped  up  and  down  the  room,  called  down 
curses  on  the  prying  fools  who  came  across  the  unex- 
pected streak  of  copper  in  the  failing  mine,  drew  heart- 
rending pictures  of  his  wife  and  family  singing  hymns 
in  the  street,  and  asked  me  for  a  drink  of  prussic  acid. 


6o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  Rogers  to  give  him  a 
brandy  and  soda. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  talk  sense.  How  much  can  you 
raise  ?  " 

He  went  into  figures  and  showed  me  that,  although  he 
stretched  his  credit  to  the  utmost,  there  were  still  ten 
thousand  pounds  to  be  provided. 

"  It's  utter  smash  and  ruin,"  he  groaned.  "  And  aU 
my  accursed  folly.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  make  a 
fortune.  But  I'm  done  for  now."  Latimer  is  usually 
a  pink,  prosperous-looking  man.  Now  he  was  white 
and  flabby,  a  piteous  spectacle.  "  You  are  executor 
under  my  will,"  he  continued.  "  Heaven  knows  I've 
nothing  to  leave.  But  you'll  see  things  straight  for  me, 
if  anything  happens  ?  You  will  look  after  Lucy  and 
the  kids,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  was  on  the  point  of  undertaking  to  do  so,  in  the 
event  of  the  continuance  of  his  craving  for  prussic  acid, 
when  I  reflected  upon  my  own  approaching  bow  and 
farewell  to  the  world  where  Lucy  and  the  kids  would 
still  be  wandering,  I  am  always  being  brought  up 
against  this  final  fire-proof  curtain.  Suddenly  a  thought 
came  which  caused  me  to  exult  exceedingly. 

"  Ten  thousand  pounds,  my  dear  Latimer,"  said  I, 
"  would  save  you  from  being  hammered  on  the  Stock 
Exchange  and  from  seeking  a  suicide's  grave.  It  would 
also  enable  you  to  maintain  Lucy  and  the  kids  in  your 
luxurious  house  at  Hampstead  and  to  take  them  as 
usual  to  Dieppe  next  summer.     Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

He  begged  me  not  to  make  a  jest  of  his  miseries.  It 
was  like  asking  a  starving  beggar  whether  a  dinner  at 
the  Carlton  wouldn't  set  him  up  again. 

"  Would  ten  thousand  set  you  up  ?  "  I  persisted. 

"  Yes.     But  I  might  as  well  try  to  raise  ten  million." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  6i 

"  Not  so,"  I  cried,  slapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  I 
myself  will  lend  you  the  money." 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  stared  at  me  wildly  in  the 
face.  He  could  not  have  been  more  electrified  if  he  had 
seen  me  suddenly  adorned  with  wings  and  shining 
raiment.  I  experienced  a  thrill  of  eumoiriety  more 
exquisite  than  I  had  dreamed  of  imagining. 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand.  I  can  give  you  no  security 
whatsoever." 

"  I  don't  want  security  and  I  don't  want  interest,"  I 
exclaimed,  feeling  more  magnanimous  than  I  had  a 
right  to  be,  seeing  that  interest  would  be  of  no  use  to  me 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Styx.  "  Pay  me  back  when  and 
how  you  like.  Come  round  with  me  to  my  bankers  and 
I'll  settle  the  matter  at  once." 

He  put  out  his  hands  ;  I  thought  he  was  about  to  fall 
at  my  feet ;  he  laughed  in  a  siUy  way  and,  groping  after 
brandy  and  soda,  poured  half  the  contents  of  the 
brandy  decanter  on  to  the  tray.  I  took  him  in  a  cab,  a 
stupefied  man,  to  the  bank,  and  when  he  left  me  at  the 
door  with  my  draft  in  his  pocket,  there  were  tears  in 
his  eyes.  He  wrung  my  hand  and  murmured  some- 
thing incoherent  about  Lucy, 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  tell  her  anything  about 
it,"  I  entreated.  "  I  love  Lucy  dearly,  as  you  know  ; 
but  I  don't  want  to  have  her  weeping  on  my  door-mat." 

I  walked  back  to  my  rooms  with  a  springing  step.  So 
happy  was  I  that  I  should  have  liked  to  dance  down 
Piccadilly.  If  the  Faculty  had  not  made  their  pro- 
nouncement, I  could  have  no  more  turned  poor  Lati- 
mer's earth  from  hell  to  heaven  than  I  could  have 
changed  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  into  a  bumblebee.     The 


62  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

mere  possibility  of  lending  him  the  money  would  not 
have  occurred  to  me. 

A  man  of  modest  fortune  does  not  go  about  playing 
Monte  Cristo.  He  gives  away  a  few  guineas  in  charity  ; 
but  he  keeps  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  himself.  The 
death  sentence,  I  vow,  has  compensations.  It  enables 
a  man  to  play  Monte  Cristo  or  any  other  avatar  of  Pro- 
vidence with  impunity,  and  to-day  I  have  discovered  it 
to  be  the  most  fascinating  game  in  the  world. 

When  Latimer  recovers  his  equilibrium  and  regards 
the  transaction  in  the  dry  light  of  reason,  he  will 
diagnose  a  sure  sjmiptom  of  megalomania,  and  will 
pity  me  in  his  heart  for  a  poor  devil. 

I  have  seen  Eleanor  Faversham,  and  she  has  released 
me  from  my  engagement  with  such  grace,  dignity,  and 
sweet  womanliness  that  I  wonder  how  I  could  have 
railed  at  her  thousand  virtues. 

"  It's  honourable  of  you  to  give  me  this  opportunity 
of  breaking  it  off,  Simon,"  she  said,  "  but  I  care  enough 
for  you  to  be  willing  to  take  my  chance  of  illness." 

"  You  do  care  for  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  raised  astonished  eyes.  "  If  I  didn't,  do  you 
suppose  I  should  have  engaged  myself  to  you  ?  If  I 
married  you  I  should  swear  to  cherish  you  in  sickness 
and  in  health.     Why  won't  you  let  me  ?  " 

I  was  in  a  difficulty.  To  say  that  I  was  in  ill-health 
and  about  to  resign  my  seat  in  Parliament  and  a  slave 
to  doctor's  orders  was  one  thing  ;  it  was  another  to  tell 
her  brutally  that  I  had  received  my  death  warrant.  She 
would  have  taken  it  much  more  to  heart  than  I  do. 

The  announcement  would  have  been  a  shock.  It 
would  have  kept  the  poor  girl  awake  of  nights.  She 
would  have  been  for  ever  seeing  the  hand  of  Death  at 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  63 

my  throat.  Every  time  we  met  she  would  have  noted 
on  my  face,  in  my  gait,  infallible  signs  of  my  approach- 
ing end.  I  had  not  the  right  to  inflict  such  intolerable 
pain  on  one  so  near  and  dear  to  me. 

Besides,  I  am  vain  enough  to  want  to  walk  forth 
somewhat  gallantly  into  eternity  ;  and  while  I  yet  live 
I  particularly  desire  that  folks  should  not  regard  me  as 
half  dead.  I  defy  you  to  treat  a  man  who  is  only  going 
to  live  twenty  weeks  in  the  same  pleasant  fashion  as 
you  would  a  man  who  has  the  run  of  life  before  him. 

There  is  always  an  instinctive  shrinking  from  decay. 
I  should  think  that  corpses  must  feel  their  position 
acutely. 

It  was  entirely  for  Eleanor's  sake  that  I  refrained 
from  taking  her  into  my  confidence.  To  her  question  I 
replied  that  I  had  not  the  right  to  tie  her  for  life  to  a 
helpless  valetudinarian.  "  Besides,"  said  I,  "  as  my 
health  grows  worse  my  jokes  will  deteriorate,  until  I  am 
reduced  to  grinning  through  a  horse-collar  at  the  doctor. 
And  you  couldn't  stand  that,  could  you  ?  " 

She  upbraided  me  gently  for  treating  everything 
as  a  jest. 

"  It  isn't  that  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  Simon  ?  " 
she  asked  tearfuUy,  but  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile. 

I  took  both  hands  and  looked  into  her  eyes — they  are 
brave,  truthful  eyes — and  through  my  heart  shot  a 
great  pain.  Till  that  moment  I  had  not  realised  what 
I  was  giving  up.  The  pleasant  paths  of  the  world — I 
could  leave  them  behind  with  a  shrug.  Political  ambi- 
tion, power,  I  could  justly  estimate  their  value  and 
could  let  them  pass  into  other  hands  without  regret. 
But  here  was  the  true,  staunch  woman,  great  of  heart 
and  wise,  a  helper  and  a  comrade,  and,  if  I  chose  to 
throw  off  the  jester  and  become  the  lover  in  real  earnest 


64  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

and  sweep  my  hand  across  the  hidden  chords,  all  that  a 
woman  can  become  towards  the  man  she  loves.  I 
realised  this. 

I  realised  that  if  she  did  not  love  me  passionately  now 
it  was  only  because  I,  in  my  foolishness,  had  willed  it 
otherwise.  For  the  first  time  I  longed  to  have  her  as 
my  own  ;  for  the  first  time  I  rebelled.  I  looked  at  her 
hungeringly  until  her  cheeks  grew  red  and  her  eyelids 
fluttered.  I  had  a  wild  impulse  to  throw  my  arms 
around  her,  and  kiss  her  as  I  had  never  kissed  her 
before  and  bid  her  forget  all  I  had  said  that  day.  Her 
faltering  eyes  told  me  that  they  read  my  longing.  I 
was  about  to  yield  when  the  little  devil  of  a  pain  inside 
made  itself  sharply  felt  and  my  madness  went  from 
me.  I  fetched  a  thing  half-way  between  a  sigh  and  a 
groan,  and  dropped  her  hands. 

"  Need  I  answer  your  question  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  turned  her  head  aside  and  whispered  "  No." 

Presently  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  I  came  back  from 
Sicily.  I  shouldn't  have  liked  you  to  write  this  to  me. 
I  shouldn't  have  understood." 

"  Do  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  think  so."  She  looked  at  me  frankly.  "  Until 
just  now  I  was  never  quite  certain  whether  you  really 
cared  for  me." 

"  I've  never  cared  for  you  so  much  as  I  do  now,  when 
I  have  to  lose  you." 

"  And  you  must  lose  me  ?  " 

"  A  man  in  my  condition  would  be  a  scoundrel  if  he 
married  a  woman." 

"  Then  it  is  very,  very  serious — your  illness  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  very  serious.  I  must  give  you  your 
freedom  whether  you  want  it  or  not." 

She  passed  on^  hand  over  the  other  9n  her  knee,  look- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  65 

ing  at  the  engagement  ring.  Then  she  took  it  off  and 
presented  it  to  me,  lying  in  the  palm  of  her  right  hand. 

"  Do  what  you  like  with  it,"  she  said  very  softly, 

I  took  the  ring  and  slipped  it  on  one  of  the  right-hand 
fingers. 

"  It  would  comfort  me  to  think  that  you  are  wearing 
it,"  said  I. 

Then  her  mother  came  into  the  room  and  Eleanor 
went  out.  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  Mrs.  Faversham, 
who  is  a  woman  only  guided  by  sentiment  when  it  leads 
to  worldly  advantage,  applauded  the  step  I  had  taken. 
As  a  sprightly  Member  of  Parliament,  with  an  assured 
political  and  social  position,  I  had  been  a  most  desirable 
son-in-law.  As  an  obscure  invalid,  coughing  and  spit- 
ting from  a  bath-chair  at  Bournemouth  (she  took  it  for 
granted  that  I  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption),  I 
did  not  take  the  lady's  fancy. 

"  My  dear  Simon,"  replied  my  lost  mother-in-law, 
"  you  have  behaved  irreproachably.  Eleanor  will  feel 
it  for  some  time  no  doubt  ;  but  she  is  young  and  will 
soon  get  over  it.  I'll  send  her  to  the  Drascombe- 
Prynnes  in  Paris.  And  as  for  yourself,  your  terrible 
misfortune  will  be  as  much  as  you  can  bear.  You 
mustn't  increase  it  by  any  worries  on  her  behalf.  In 
that  way  I'll  do  my  utmost  to  help  you." 

"  You  are  kindness  itself,  Mrs.  Faversham,"  said  I. 

I  bowed  over  the  dehghted  lady's  hand  and  went 
away,  deeply  moved  by  her  charity  and  maternal 
devotion. 

But  perhaps  in  her  hardness  lies  truth.  I  have  never 
touched  Eleanor's  heart.  No  romance  had  preceded  or 
accompanied  our  engagement.  The  deepest,  truest 
incident  in  it  has  been  our  parting. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Dale's  occupation,  like  Othello's,  being  gone,  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  Lady  Kynnersley  has  despatched  him 
to  Berlin,  on  her  own  business,  connected,  I  think,  with 
the  International  Aid  Society.  He  is  to  stay  there  for 
a  fortnight. 

How  he  proposes  to  bear  the  separation  from  the 
object  of  his  flame  I  have  not  inquired  ;  but  if  forcible 
objurgations  in  the  vulgar  tongue  have  any  inner  signifi- 
cance, I  gather  that  Lady  Kynnersley  has  not  employed 
an  enthusiastic  agent. 

Being  thus  free  to  pursue  my  eumoirous  schemes 
without  his  intervention,  for  you  cannot  talk  to  a  lady 
for  her  soul's  good  when  her  adorer  is  gaping  at  you, 
I  have  taken  the  opportunity  to  see  something  of  Lola 
Brandt. 

I  find  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  her  ;  and  it  seems  not 
improbable  that  I  shall  see  considerably  more.  Deuce 
take  the  woman  ! 

On  the  first  afternoon  of  Dale's  absence  I  paid  her  my 
promised  visit.  It  was  a  dull  day,  and  the  room,  lit 
chiefly  by  the  firelight,  happily  did  not  reveal  its  nerve- 
racking  tastelessness.  Lola  Brandt,  supple-limbed  and 
lazy-voiced,  talked  to  me  from  the  cushioned  depths  of 
her  chair. 

We  lightly  touched  on  Dale's  trip  to  Berlin.  She 
would  miss  him  terribly.  It  was  so  kind  of  me  to  come 
and  cheer  her  lonely  hour.     Politeness  forbade  my  say- 

66 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  (>-] 

ing  that  I  had  come  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  To 
my  vague  expression  of  courtesy  she  responded  by 
asking  me  with  a  laugh  how  I  Hked  Mr.  Anastasius 
Papadopoulos. 

I  replied  that  I  considered  it  urbane  on  his  part  to 
invite  me  to  see  his  cats  perform. 

"  If  you  were  to  hurt  one  of  his  cats  he'd  murder 
you,"  she  informed  me.  "  He  always  carries  a  long, 
sharp  knife  concealed  somewhere  about  him  on  pur- 
pose." 

"  What  a  fierce  little  gentleman,"  I  remarked. 

"  He  looks  on  me  as  one  of  his  cats,  too,"  she  said  with 
a  low  laugh,  "  and  considers  himself  my  protector. 
Once  in  Buda-Pesth  he  and  I  were  driving  about.  I 
was  doing  some  shopping.  As  I  was  getting  into  the 
cab  a  man  insulted  me,  on  account,  I  suppose,  of  my 
German  name.  Anastasius  sprang  at  him  like  a  wild 
beast,  and  I  had  to  drag  him  off  bodily  and  lift  him  back 
into  the  cab.  I'm  pretty  strong,  you  know.  It  must 
have  been  a  funny  sight."  She  turned  to  me  quickly. 
"  Do  you  think  it  wrong  of  me  to  laugh  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  laugh  at  the  absurd  ?  " 

"  Because  in  devotion  like  that  there  seems  to  be 
something  solemn  and  frightening.  If  I  told  him  to 
kill  his  cats,  he  would  do  it.  If  I  ordered  him  to  commit 
Hari-Kari  on  the  hearthrug,  he  would  whip  out  his 
knife  and  obey  me.  When  you  have  a  human  soul^at 
your  mercy  like  that,  it's  a  kind  of  sacrilege  to  laugh  at 
it.  It  makes  you  feel — oh,  I  can't  express  myself. 
Look,  it  doesn't  make  tears  come  into  your  eyes  exactly, 
it  makes  them  come  into  your  heart." 

We  continued  the  subject,  divagating  as  we  went,  and 
had  a  nice  little  sentimental  conversation.  There  are 
depths  of  human  feeling  I  should  never  have  suspected 


68  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

in  this  lazy  panther  of  a  woman,  and  although  she  openly 
avows  having  no  more  education  than  a  tinker's  dog, 
she  can  talk  with  considerable  force  and  vividness  of 
expression. 

Indeed,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  a  tinker's  dog 
has  a  fine  education  if  he  be  naturally  a  shrewd  animal 
and  takes  advantage  of  his  opportunities  ;  and  a  fine 
education,  too,  of  its  kind  was  that  of  the  vagabond 
Lola,  who  on  her  way  from  Dublin  to  Yokohama  had 
more  profitably  employed  her  time  than  Lady  Kyn- 
nersley  supposed.  She  had  seen  much  of  the  civilised 
places  of  the  earth  in  her  wanderings  from  engagement 
to  engagement,  and  had  been  an  acute  observer  of  men 
and  things. 

We  exchanged  travel  pictures  and  reminiscences.  I 
found  myself  floating  with  her  through  moonlit  Venice, 
while  she  chanted  with  startling  exactness  the  cry  of 
the  gondoliers.  To  my  confusion  be  it  spoken,  I  forgot 
all  about  Dale  Kynnersley  and  my  mission.  The  lazy 
voice  and  rich  personality  fascinated  me.  When  I  rose 
to  go  I  found  I  had  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  her 
company.  She  took  me  round  the  room  and  showed 
me  some  of  her  treasures. 

"  This  is  very  old.  I  think  it  is  fifteenth  century," 
she  said,  picking  up  an  Italian  ivory. 

It  was.  I  expressed  my  admiration.  Then  mali- 
ciously I  pointed  to  a  horrible  little  Tyrolean  chalet  and 
said  : 

"  That,  too,  is  very  pretty." 

She  looked  me  squarely  in  the  face. 

"  It  isn't.     And  you  know  it." 

She  is  a  most  disconcerting  creature.  I  accepted  the 
rebuke  meekly.     What  else  could  I  do  ? 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  have  it  here  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  69 

"  It's  a  present  from  Anastasius,"  she  said.  "  Every 
time  he  comes  to  see  me  he  brings  what  he  calls  an 
'  offrande.'  All  these  things" — she  indicated,  with  a 
comprehensive  sweep  of  the  arm,  the  Union  Jack 
cushion,  the  little  men  mounting  ladders  inside  bottles, 
the  hen  sitting  on  her  nest,  and  the  other  trumpery 
gimcracks — "  all  these  things  are  presents  from  Anas- 
tasius. It  would  hurt  him  not  to  see  them  here  when 
he  calls." 

"  You  might  have  a  separate  cabinet,"  I  suggested. 
"  A  chamber  of  horrors  ?  "  she  laughed.     "  No.     It 
gives  him  more  pleasure  to  see  them  as  they  are — and  a 
poor  little  freak  doesn't  get  much  out  of  life." 

She  sighed,  and  picking  up  "  A  Present  from  Mar- 
gate "  kind  of  mug,  fingered  it  very  tenderly. 

I  went  away  feeling  angry.  Was  the  woman  bewitch- 
ing me.  And  I  felt  angrier  still  when  I  met  Lady 
Kynnersley  at  dinner  that  evening.  Luckily  I  had 
only  a  few  words  with  her.  Had  I  done  anything  yet 
with  regard  to  Dale  and  the  unmentionable  woman  ? 
If  I  had  told  her  that  I  had  spent  a  most  agreeable  after- 
noon with  the  enchantress,  she  would  not  have  enjoyed 
her  evening.  Like  General  Trochu  of  the  Siege  of  Paris 
fame,  I  said  in  a  mysterious  manner,  "  I  have  my  plan," 
and  sent  her  into  dinner  comforted. 

But  I  had  no  plan.  My  next  interview  with  Madame 
Brandt  brought  me  no  further.  We  have  established 
telephonic  communications.  Through  the  medium  of 
this  diabolical  engine  of  loquacity  and  indiscretion,  I 
was  prevailed  on  to  accompany  her  to  a  rehearsal  of 
Anastasius' s  cats. 

Rogers,  with  a  face  as  imperturbable  as  if  he  was  an- 
nouncing the  visit  of  an  archbishop,  informed  me  at  the 
appointed  hour  that  Madame  Brandt's  brougham  was 


70  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

at  the  door.  I  went  down  and  found  the  brougham 
open,  as  the  day  was  fine,  and  Lola  Brandt,  smiling 
under  a  gigantic  hat  with  an  amazing  black  feather,  and 
looking  as  handsome  as  you  please. 

We  were  blocked  for  a  few  moments  at  the  mouth  of 
the  courtyard,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  all  Piccadilly 
that  passed  staring  at  us  in  admiration.  Lola  Brandt 
liked  it ;  but  I  didn't,  especially  when  I  recognised  one 
of  the  starers  as  the  eldest  Drascombe-Prynne  boy 
whose  people  in  Paris  are  receiving  Eleanor  Faversham 
under  their  protection.  A  nice  reputation  I  shall  be 
acquiring.  My  companion  was  in  gay  mood.  Now,  as 
it  is  no  part  of  dealing  unto  oneself  a  happy  life  and 
portion  to  damp  a  fellow-creature's  spirits,  I  responded 
with  commendable  gaiety. 

I  own  that  the  drive  to  Professor  Anastasius  Papado- 
poulo's  cattery  in  Rosebery  Avenue,  Clerkenwell,  was 
distinctly  enjoyable.  I  forgot  all  about  the  little  pain 
inside  and  the  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears,  and 
talked  a  vast  amount  of  nonsense  which  the  lady  was 
pleased  to  regard  as  wit,  for  she  laughed  whole-heartedly, 
showing  her  strong,  white,  even  teeth.  But  why  was  I 
going  ? 

Was  it  because  she  had  requested  me  through  the  tele- 
phone to  give  unimagined  happiness  to  a  poor  little 
freak  who  would  be  as  proud  as  Punch  to  exhibit  his 
cats  to  an  English  Member  of  Parliament  ?  Was  it  in 
order  to  further  my  designs — Machiavellian  towards 
the  lady,  but  eumoirous  towards  Dale  ?  Or  was  it  simply 
for  my  own  good  pleasure  ? 

Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos,  resplendently 
raimented,  with  the  shiniest  of  silk  hats  and  a  flower  in 
the  button-hole  of  his  frock-coat,  received  us  at  the  door 
of  a  small  house,   the  first-floor  windows  of  which 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  71 

announced  the  tenancy  of  a  maker  of  gymnastic 
appliances  ;  and  having  kissed  Madame  Brandt's  hand 
with  awful  solemnity  and  bowed  deeply  to  me,  he  pre- 
ceded us  down  the  passage,  out  into  the  yard,  and  into 
a  ramshackle  studio  at  the  end,  where  his  cats  had  their 
being. 

There  were  fourteen  of  them,  curled  up  in  large  cages 
standing  against  the  walls.  The  place  was  lit  by  a  sky- 
light and  warmed  by  a  stove.  The  floor,  like  a  stage, 
was  fitted  up  with  miniature  acrobatic  paraphernalia 
and  properties.  There  were  little  five-barred  gates,  and 
trapezes,  and  tight-ropes,  and  spring-boards,  and  a 
trestle-table,  all  the  metal-work  gleaming  like  silver.  A 
heavy,  uncouth  German  lad,  whom  the  professor  intro- 
duced as  his  pupil  and  assistant,  Quast,  was  in  attend- 
ance. Mr.  Papadopoulos  polyglotically  acknowledged 
the  honour  I  had  conferred  upon  him.  He  is  very  like 
the  late  Emperor  of  the  French  ;  but  his  forehead  is 
bulgier. 

With  a  theatrical  gesture  and  the  remark  that  1 
should  see,  he  opened  some  cages  and  released  half  a 
dozen  cats — a  Persian,  a  white  Angora,  and  four  com- 
monplace tabbies,  who  all  sprang  on  to  the  table  with 
military  precision.  Madame  Brandt  began  to  caress 
them.  I,  wishing  to  show  interest  in  the  troupe,  pre- 
pared to  do  the  same  ;  but  the  dwarf  scurried  up  with  a 
screech  from  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Ne  touchez  pas — ne  iouchez  pas  !  " 

I  refrained,  somewhat  wonderingly,  from  touching. 
Madame  Brandt  explained. 

"  He  thinks  you  would  spoil  the  magnetic  influence. 
It  is  a  superstition  of  his." 

"  But  you  are  touching." 

"  He  believes  I  have  his  magnetism — whatever  that 


72  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

may  be,"  she  said  with  a  smile.     "  Would  you  like  to 
see  an  experiment  ?     Anastasius  !  " 

"  Carissima." 

"  Is  that  the  untamed  Persian  you  were  telling 
me  of  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing  to  a  cage  from  which  a 
ferocious,  gigantic  animal  more  like  a  woolly  tiger  than  a 
tom-cat  looked  out  with  expressionless  yellow  eyes. 
"  Will  you  let  Mr.  de  Gex  try  to  make  friends  with  it  ?  " 

"  Your  will  is  law,  meine  Konigin,"  replied  Professor 
Papadopoulos,  bowing  low.  "  But  Hephaestus  is  as 
fierce  as  the  flames  of  hell." 

"  See  what  he'll  do,"  laughed  Lola  Brandt. 

I  approached  the  cage  with  an  ingratiating  "  Puss, 
puss  !  "  and  a  hideous  growl  welcomed  me.  I  ventured 
my  hand  towards  the  bars.  The  beast  bristled  in 
.  demoniac  wrath,  spat  with  malignant  venom,  and  shot 
out  its  claws.  If  I  had  touched  it  my  hand  would  have 
been  torn  to  shreds.  I  have  never  seen  a  more  malevo- 
lent, fierce,  spiteful,  ill-conditioned  brute  in  my  life. 
My  feelings  being  somewhat  hurt,  and  my  nerves  a  bit 
shaken,  I  retreated  hastily. 

"  Now  look,"  said  Lola  Brandt. 

With  absolute  fearlessness  she  went  up  to  the  cage, 
opened  it,  took  the  unresisting  thing  out  by  the  scruff 
of  its  neck,  held  it  up  like  a  door-mat,  and  put  it  on  her 
shoulder,  where  it  forthwith  began  to  purr  like  any 
harmless  necessary  cat  and  rub  its  head  against  her 
cheek.  She  put  it  on  the  floor  ;  it  arched  its  back  and 
circling  sideways  rubbed  itself  against  her  skirts. 

She  sat  down,  and  taking  the  brute  by  its  forepaws 
m.ade  it  stand  on  its  hind  legs.  She  pulled  it  on  to  her 
lap  and  it  curled  round  lazily.  Then  she  hoisted  it  on 
to  her  shoulder  again,  and,  rising,  crossed  the  room  and 
bowed  to  the  level  of  the  cage,  when  the  beast  leaped  in 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  73 

purring  thunderously  in  high  good  humour.     Mr.  Papa- 
dopoulos  sang  out  in  breathless  delight  : 

"  If  I  am  the  King  of  Cats,  you,  Carissima,  are  the 
Queen.     Nay,  more,  you  are  the  Goddess  !  " 

Lola  Brandt  laughed.  I  did  not.  It  was  uncanny. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  mysterious  freemasonic  affinity 
existed  between  her  and  the  evil  beast.  During  her 
drive  hither  she  had  entered  my  own  atmosphere.  She 
had  been  the  handsome,  unconventional  woman  of  the 
world.  Now  she  seemed  as  remote  from  me  as  the 
witches  in  "  Macbeth." 

If  I  had  seen  her  dashing  Paris  hat  rise  up  into  a  point 
and  her  umbrella  turn  into  a  broomstick,  and  herself 
into  one  of  the  buxom  carlines  of  "  Tam  o'Shanter,"  I 
should  not  have  been  surprised.  The  feats  of  the  mild 
pussies  which  the  dwarf  began  forthwith  to  exhibit 
provoked  in  me  but  a  polite  counterfeit  of  enthusiasm. 
Lola  Brandt  had  discounted  my  interest.  Even  his 
performance  with  the  ferocious  Persian  lacked  the  dia- 
bolical certainty  of  Lola's  handling.  He  locked  all  the 
other  cats  up  and  enticed  it  out  of  the  cage  with  a  piece 
of  fish.  He  guided  it  with  a  small  whip,  as  it  jumped 
over  gates  and  through  blazing  hoops,  and  he  stood 
tense  and  concentrated,  like  a  lion-tamer. 

The  act  over,  the  cat  turned  and  snarled  and  only 
jumped  into  its  cage  after  a  smart  flick  of  the  whip. 
The  dwarf  did  not  touch  it  once  with  his  hands.  I 
applauded,  however,  and  complimented  him.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  his  heart  and  bent  forward  in  humility. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  I  am  but  a  neophyte  where  Madame 
is  an  expert.  I  know  the  superficial  nature  of  cats. 
Now  and  then  without  vainglory  I  can  say  I  know  their 
hearts  ;  but  Madame  penetrates  to  and  holds  commune 
with  their   souls.     And  a  cat's  soul,    monsieur,    is  a 


74  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

wonderful  thing.  Once  it  was  divine — in  ancient  Egypt. 
Doubtless  monsieur  has  heard  of  Pasht  ?  Holy  men 
spent  their  lives  in  approaching  the  cat-soul.  Madame 
was  born  to  the  privilege.     Pasht  watches  over  her." 

"  Pasht,"  said  I  politely  in  French,  in  reply  to  this 
clotted  nonsense,  "  was  a  great  divinity.  And  for  your- 
self, who  knows  but  what  you  may  have  been  in  a 
previous  incarnation  the  keeper  of  the  Sacred  Cats  in 
some  Egyptian  temple." 

"  I  was,"  he  said,  with  staggering  earnestness.  "  At 
Memphis." 

"  One  of  these  days,"  I  returned,  with  equal  so- 
lemnity, "  I  hope  for  the  privilege  of  hearing  some  of 
your  reminiscences.  They  would  no  doubt  be  interest- 
mg. 

On  the  way  back  Lola  thanked  me  for  pretending  to 
take  the  little  man  seriously,  and  not  laughing  at  him. 

"  If  I  hadn't,"  said  I,  "  he  would  have  stuck  his  knife 
into  me." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  did  it  naturally.  I  was 
watching  you.  It  is  because  you  are  a  generous- 
hearted  gentleman." 

Said  I  :  "If  you  talk  like  that  I'll  get  out  and  walk." 

And,  indeed,  what  right  had  she  to  characterise  the 
moral  condition  of  my  heart  ?  I  asked  her.  She  laughed 
her  low,  lazy  laugh,  but  made  no  reply.  Presently  she 
said : 

"Why  didn't  you  like  my  making  friends  with 
the  cat  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  didn't  like  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  felt  it." 

"  You  mustn't  feel  things  like  that,"  I  remarked. 
"  It  isn't  good  for  you." 

She  insisted  on  my  telling  her.     I  explained  as  well 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  75 

as  I  could.  She  touched  the  sleeve  of  my  coat  with  her 
gloved  hand. 

"I'm  glad,  because  it  shows  you  take  an  interest  in 
me.  And  I  wanted  to  let  you  see  that  I  could  do  some- 
thing besides  loll  about  in  a  drawing-room  and  smoke 
cigarettes.     It's  all  I  can  do.     But  it's  something." 

She  said  it  with  the  humility  of  the  Jongleur  de 
Notre  Dame  in  Anatole  France's  story. 

In  Eaton  Square,  where  I  had  a  luncheon  engage- 
ment, she  dropped  me  and  drove  off  smiling,  evi- 
dently well  pleased  with  herself.  My  hostess  was  stand- 
ing by  the  window  when  I  was  shown  into  the  drawing- 
room.  I  noted  the  faintest  possible  little  malicious 
twinkle  in  her  eye. 

During  the  afternoon  I  had  a  telephonic  message  from 
my  doctor,  who  asked  me  why  I  had  neglected  him  for  a 
fortnight  and  urged  me  to  go  to  Harley  Street  at  once. 
To  humour  him  I  went  the  next  morning.  Hunnington 
is  a  bluff,  hearty  fellow  who  feeds  himself  into  pink 
floridity  so  as  to  give  confidence  to  his  patients.  In 
answer  to  his  renewed  inquiry  as  to  my  neglect,  I 
remarked  that  a  man  condemned  to  be  hanged  doesn't 
seek  interviews  with  the  judge  in  order  to  learn  how  the 
rope  is  getting  on.  I  conveyed  to  him  politely,  although 
he  is  an  old  friend,  that  I  desired  to  forget  his  well-fed 
existence.  In  his  chatty  way  he  requested  me  not  to 
be  an  ass,  and  proceeded  to  put  to  me  the  usual  silly 
questions. 

Remembering  the  result  of  my  last  visit,  I  made  him 
happy  by  answering  them  gloomily  ;  whereupon  he 
seized  his  opportunity  and  ordered  me  out  of  England 
for  the  winter.  I  must  go  to  a  warm  climate — Egypt, 
South  Africa,  Madeira — I  could  take  my  choice.  I 
flatly  refused  to  obey.     I  had  my  duties  in  London.    He 


76  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

was  so  unsympathetic  as  to  damn  my  duties.  My  duty 
was  to  live  as  long  as  possible,  and  my  wintering  in 
London  would  probably  curtail  my  short  life  by  two 
months.  Then  I  turned  on  him  and  explained  the  chari- 
table disingenuousness  of  my  replies  to  his  questions. 
He  refused  to  believe  me,  and  we  parted  with  mutual 
recriminations.  I  sent  him  next  day,  however,  a  brace 
of  pheasants,  a  present  from  Farfax  Glenn.  After  all, 
he  is  one  of  God's  creatures. 

The  next  time  I  called  on  Lola  Brandt  I  went  with  the 
fixed  determination  to  make  some  progress  in  my  mis- 
sion. I  vowed  that  I  would  not  be  seduced  by  trum- 
pery conversation  about  Yokohama  or  allow  my  mind 
to  be  distracted  by  absurd  adventures  among  cats.  I 
would  clothe  myself  in  the  armour  of  eumoiriety,  and, 
with  the  sword  of  duty  in  my  hand,  would  go  forth  to 
battle  with  the  enchantress.  All  said  and  done,  what 
was  she  but  a  bold-faced,  strapping  woman  without  an 
idea  in  her  head  save  the  enslavement  of  an  impression- 
able boy  several  years  her  junior  ?  It  was  preposterous 
that  I,  Simon  de  Gex,  who  had  beguiled  and  fooled  an 
electorate  of  thirty  thousand  hard-headed  men  into 
choosing  me  for  their  representative  in  Parliament, 
should  not  be  a  match  for  Lola  Brandt.  As  for  her 
complicated  feminine  personality,  her  intuitiveness,  her 
magnetism,  her  fascination,  all  the  qualities  in  fact 
which  my  poetical  fancy  had  assigned  to  her,  they  had 
no  existence  in  reality.  She  was  the  most  commonplace 
person  I  had  ever  encountered,  and  I  had  been  but  a 
sentimental  lunatic. 

In  this  truly  admirable  frame  of  mind  I  entered  her 
drawing-room.  She  threw  down  the  penny  novel  she 
was  reading,  and  with  a  little  cry  of  joy  sprang  forward 
to  greet  me. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  77 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  I  was  getting  the  blind 
hump  !  " 

Did  I  not  say  she  was  commonplace  ?  I  hate  this 
synonym  for  boredom.  It  may  be  elegant  in  the  mouth 
of  a  duchess  and  pathetic  in  that  of  an  oyster-wench, 
but  it  falls  vulgarly  from  intermediate  lips. 

"  What  has  given  it  to  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  My  poor  little  ouistiti  is  dead.  It  is  this  abomin- 
able climate." 

I  murmured  condolences.  I  could  not  exhibit  un- 
reasonable grief  at  the  demise  of  a  sick  monkey  which 
I  had  never  seen. 

"  I'm  also  out  of  books,"  she  said,  after  having  paid 
her  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  departed.  "  I  have 
been  forced  to  ask  the  servants  to  lend  me  something 
to  read.  Have  you  ever  tried  this  sort  of  thing  ?  You 
ought  to.     It  tells  you  what  goes  on  in  high  society." 

I  was  sure  it  didn't.  Not  a  duchess  in  its  pages  talked 
about  having  the  blind  hump.     I  said  gravely  : 

"  I  will  ask  you  to  lend  it  to  me.  Since  Dale  has  been 
away  I've  had  no  one  to  make  out  my  library  list." 

"  Do  turn  Adolphus  out  of  that  chair  and  sit  down," 
she  said,  sinking  into  her  accustomed  seat.  Adolphus 
was  the  Chow  dog  before  mentioned,  an  accomplished 
animal  who  could  mount  guard  with  the  poker  and 
stand  on  his  head,  and  had  been  pleased  to  favour  me 
with  his  friendship. 

"  I  miss  Dale  greatly,"  said  I. 

"  I  suppose  you  do.     You  are  very  fond  of  him  ?  " 

"  Very,"  said  I.  "  By-the-by,  how  did  you  first 
come  across  Dale  ?  " 

She  threw  me  a  swift  glance  and  smiled. 

"  Oh,  in  the  most  respectable  way.  I  was  dining  at 
the  Carlton  with  Sir  Joshua  Oldiield,  the  famous  surgeon 


78  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

you  know.  He  performed  a  silly  little  operation  on  me 
last  year,  and  since  then  we've  been  great  friends.  Dale 
and  some  sort  of  baby  boy  were  dining  there,  too,  and 
afterwards,  in  the  lounge,  Sir  Joshua  introduced  them 
to  me.  Dale  asked  me  if  he  could  call.  I  said  '  Yes.' 
Perhaps  I  was  wrong.  Anyhow,  voild  !  Do  you  know 
Sir  Joshua  ?  " 

"  I  sat  next  to  him  once  at  a  public  dinner.  He's  a 
friend  of  the  Kynnersleys.     A  genial  old  soul." 

"  He's  a  dear  !  "  said  Lola. 

"  Do  you  know  many  of  Dale's  friends  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hardly  any,"  she  replied.  "  It's  rather  lonesome." 
Then  she  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"I  was  so  terrified  at  meeting  you  the  first  time. 
Dale  can  talk  of  no  one  else.  He  makes  a  kind  of  god 
of  you.  I  felt  I  was  going  to  hate  you  like  the  devil. 
I  expected  quite  a  different  person." 

The  diplomatist  listens  to  much  and  says  little. 

"  Indeed,"  I  remarked. 

She  nodded.  "  I  thought  you  would  be  a  big  beefy 
man  with  a  red  face,  you  know.  He  gave  me  the 
idea  somehow  by  calling  you  a  '  splendid  chap.'  You 
see,  I  couldn't  think  of  a  '  splendid  chap '  with  a 
white  face  and  a  waxed  moustache  and  your  way  of 
talking." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  "  not  to  come  up  to  your  idea 
of  the  heroic." 

"  But  you  do ! "  she  cried,  with  one  of  her  supple 
twists  of  the  body.  "  It  was  I  that  was  stupid.  And 
I  don't  hate  you  at  all.  You  can  see  that  I  don't.  I 
didn't  even  hate  you  when  you  came  as  an  enemy." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  I.     "  What  made  you  think  that  ?     We 
agreed  to  argue  it  out,  if  you  remember." 
She  drew  out  of  a  case  beside  her  one  of  her  unspeak- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  79 

able  cigarettes.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  lighting 
it,  and  pausing  to  inhale  the  first  two  or  three  puffs  of 
smoke,  "  do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  who  has  lived 
among  wild  beasts  hasn't  got  instinct  ?  " 

I  drew  my  chair  nearer  to  the  fire.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  be  uncanny  again. 

"  I  expected  you  were  going  to  be  horrified  at  the 
dreadful  creature  your  friend  had  taken  up  with.  Oh 
yes,  I  know  in  the  eyes  of  your  class  I'm  a  dreadful 
creature.  I'm  like  a  cat  in  many  ways.  I'm  suspicious 
of  strangers,  especially  strangers  of  your  class,  and  I 
sniff  and  sniff  until  I  feel  it's  all  right.  After  the  first 
few  minutes  I  felt  you  were  all  right.  You're  true  and 
honourable,  like  Dale,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Like  a  panther  making  a  sudden  spring,  she  sat  bolt 
upright  in  her  chair  as  she  launched  this  challenge  at 
me.  Now,  it  is  disconcerting  to  a  man  to  have  a  woman 
leap  at  his  throat  and  ask  him  whether  he  is  true  and 
honourable,  especially  when  his  attitude  towards  her 
approaches  the  Machiavellian. 

I  could  only  murmur  modestly  that  I  hoped  I  could 
claim  these  qualifications. 

"  And  you  don't  think  me  a  dreadful  woman  ?  " 

"  So  far  from  it,  Madame  Brandt,"  I  replied,  "  that 
I  think  you  a  remarkable  one." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am,"  she  said,  sinking  back  among  her 
cushions.  "  I  should  like  to  be  for  Dale's  sake.  I 
suppose  you  know  I  care  a  great  deal  for  Dale  ?  " 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  guessing  it,"  said  I. 
"  And  since  you  have  done  me  the  honour  of  taking  me 
so  far  into  your  confidence,"  I  added,  playing  what  I 
considered  to  be  my  master-card,  "  may  I  venture  to 
ask  whether  you  have  contemplated  " — I  paused — 
'  marriage  ?  " 


8o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Her  brow  grew  dark,  as  she  looked  involuntarily  at 
her  bare  left  hand. 

"  I  have  got  a  husband  already,"  she  replied. 

As  I  expected.  Ladies  like  Lola  Brandt  always  have 
husbands  unfit  for  publication  ;  and  as  the  latter  seem 
to  make  it  a  point  of  honour  never  to  die,  widowed  Lolas 
are  as  rare  as  blackberries  in  spring. 

"  Forgive  my  rudeness,"  I  said,  "  but  you  wear  no 
wedding-ring." 

"  I  threw  it  into  the  sea." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  L 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  about  him  ?  "  she  asked  sud- 
denly. "  If  we  are  to  be  friends,  perhaps  you  had  better 
know.  Somehow  I  don't  like  talking  to  Dale  about  it. 
Do  you  mind  putting  some  coals  on  the  fire  ?  " 

I  busied  myself  with  the  coal-scuttle,  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  settled  down  to  hear  the  story.  If  it  had  not  been 
told  in  the  twilit  hour  by  a  woman  with  a  caressing, 
enveloping  voice  like  Lola  Brandt's  I  should  have 
yawned  myself  out  of  the  house. 

It  was  a  dismal,  ordinary  story.  Her  husband  was  a 
gentleman,  a  Captain  Vauvenarde  in  the  French  Army. 
He  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  when  she  had  first  taken 
Marseilles  captive  with  the  prodigiosities  of  her  horse 
Sultan.  His  proposals  of  manifold  unsanctified  delights 
met  with  unqualified  rejection  by  the  respectable  and 
not  too  passionately  infatuated  Lola.  When  he  nerved 
himself  to  the  supreme  sacrifice  of  offering  marriage  she 
accepted. 

She  had  dreams  of  social  advancement,  yearned  to  be 
one  of  the  white  faces  of  the  audience  in  the  front  rows. 
The  civil  ceremony  having  been  performed,  he  pleaded 
with  her  for  a  few  weeks'  secrecy  on  account  of  his 
family.     The  weeks  grew  into  months,  during  which,  for 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  8i 

the  sake  of  a  livelihood,  she  fulfilled  her  professional 
engagements  in  many  other  towns.  At  last,  when  she 
returned  to  Marseilles,  it  became  apparent  that  Captain 
Vauvenarde  had  no  intention  whatever  of  acknowledg- 
ing her  openly  as  his  wife.  Hence  many  tears.  More- 
o\er,  he  had  little  beyond  his  pay  and  his  gambling 
debts,  instead  of  the  comfortable  little  fortune  that 
would  have  assured  her  social  position.  Now,  officers 
in  the  French  Army  who  marry  ladies  with  performing 
horses  are  not  usually  guided  by  reason  ;  and  Captain 
Vauvenarde  seems  to  have  been  the  most  unreasonable 
being  in  the  world.  It  was  beneath  the  dignity  of 
Captain  Vauvenarde's  wife  to  make  a  horse  do  tricks  in 
public,  and  it  was  beneath  Captain  Vauvenarde's  dig- 
nity to  give  her  his  name  before  the  world.  She  must 
neither  be  Lola  Brandt  nor  Madame  Vauvenarde.  She 
must  give  up  her  fairly  lucrative  profession  and  live  in 
semi-detached  obscurity  up  a  little  back  street  on  an  al- 
lowance of  twopence-halfpenny  a  week  and  be  happy  and 
cheerful  and  devoted.  Lola  refused.  Hence  more  tears. 
There  were  scenes  of  frantic  jealousy,  not  on  account 
of  any  human  being,  but  on  cccount  of  the  horse.  If 
she  loved  him  as  much  as  she  loved  that  abominable 
quadruped  whose  artificial  airs  and  graces  made  him 
sick  every  time  he  looked  at  it,  she  would  accede  to  his 
desire.  Besides,  he  had  the  husband's  right — le  droit  du 
mari — a  powerful  privilege  in  France.  She  pointed  out 
that  he  could  only  exercise  it  by  declaring  her  to  be 
his  wife.  Relations  were  strained.  They  led  separate 
lives.  From  Marseilles  she  went  to  Genoa,  whither  he 
followed  her.  Eventually  he  went  away  in  a  temper 
and  never  came  back.  She  had  not  heard  from  him 
since,  and  where  he  was  at  the  present  moment  she  had 
not  the  faintest  idea. 


82  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  So  you  went  cheerfully  on  with  your  profession  ?  " 
I  remarked. 

"  I  returned  to  Marseilles,  and  there  I  lost  my  horse 
Sultan.  Then  my  father  died  and  left  me  pretty  well 
off,  and  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  train  another  animal.  So 
here  I  am.     Ah  !  " 

With  one  of  her  lithe  movements  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and,  flinging  out  her  arms  in  a  wide  gesture,  began  to 
walk  about  the  room,  stopping  here  and  there  to  turn 
on  the  light  and  draw  the  flaring  chintz  curtains.  I  rose 
too,  so  as  to  aid  her.  Suddenly  as  we  met,  by  the 
window,  she  laid  both  her  hands  on  my  shoulders  and 
looked  into  my  face  earnestly  and  imploringly,  and  her 
lips  quivered.  I  wondered  apprehensively  what  she 
was  going  to  do  next. 

"  For  God's  sake,  be  my  friend  and  help  me  !  " 

The  cry,  in  her  rich,  low  notes,  seemed  to  come 
from  the  depths  of  the  woman's  nature.  It  caused 
some  absurd  and  unnecessary  chord  within  me  to 
vibrate. 

For  the  first  time  I  realised  that  her  strong,  handsome 
face  could  look  nobly  and  pathetically  beautiful.  Her 
eyes  swam  in  an  adorable  moisture  and  grew  very 
human  and  appealing.  In  a  second  all  my  self-denying 
ordinances  were  forgotten.  The  witch  had  me  in  her 
power  again. 

"  My  dear  Madame  Brandt,"  said  I,  "  how  can  I  do 
it  ?" 

"  Don't  take  Dale  from  me.  I've  lived  alone,  alone, 
alone  all  these  years,  and  I  couldn't  bear  it." 

"  Do  you  care  for  him  so  very  much  ?  " 

She  withdrew  her  hands  and  moved  slightly.  "  Who 
else  in  the  wide  world  have  I  to  care  for  ?  " 

This  was  very  pathetic,  but  I  had  the  sense  to  remark 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  83 

that  compromising  the  boy's  future  was  not  the  best 
way  of  showing  her  devotion. 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  do  that  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  can't 
marry  him.  And  if  I  do  what  I've  never  done  before  for 
any  man — become  his  mistress — who  need  know  ?  I 
could  stay  in  the  background." 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  dear  lady,"  said  I,  "  that  Cap- 
tain Vauvenarde  is  probably  alive." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I've  lost  sight  of  him  altogether." 

"  Are  you  quite  so  sure,"  I  asked,  regaining  my  sanit} 
by  degrees,  "  that  Captain  Vauvenarde  has  lost  sight  of 
you? 

She  turned  quickly.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  have  given  him  no  chance  as  yet  of  recovering 
his  freedom." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  face,  and  sat  down  on 
the  sofa.     "  Do  you  mean — divorce  ?  " 

"  It's  an  ugly  word,  dear  Madame  Brandt,"  said  I,  as 
gently  as  I  could,  "  but  you  and  I  are  strong  people  and 
needn't  fear  uttering  it.  Don't  you  think  such  a  scan- 
dal would  ruin  Dale  at  the  very  beginning  of  his  career  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  silence.  I  was  glad  to  see  she  was 
feminine  enough  to  twist  and  tear  her  handkerchief. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  at  last.  "  I  can't 
live  this  awful  lonely  life  much  longer.  Sometimes  I 
get  the  creeps." 

I  might  have  given  her  the  sound  advice  to  find 
healthy  occupation  in  training  crocodiles  to  sit  up  and 
beg  ;  but  an  idea  ^-  which  advanced  thinkers  might 
classify  as  more  suburban  was  beginning  to  take  shape 
in  my  mind. 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you,"  I  said,  "  that  now  you 
have  assumed  the  qualifications  imposed  by  Captain 
Vauvenarde  for  bearing  his  name  ?  " 


84  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  You  no  longer  perform  in  public.  He  would  have 
no  possible  grievance  against  you." 

"  Are  you  suggesting  that  I  should  go  back  to  my 
husband  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  I  am,"  said  I,  feeling  mighty  diplomatic. 

She  looked  straight  in  front  of  her,  with  parted  lips, 
fingering  her  handkerchief  and  evidently  pondering  the 
entirely  new  suggestion.  I  thought  it  best  to  let  her 
ponder.  As  a  general  rule,  people  will  do  anything  in 
the  world  rather  than  think  ;  so,  when  one  sees  a  human 
being  wrapped  in  thought,  one  ought  to  regard  wilful 
disturbance  of  the  process  as  sacrilege.  I  lit  a  cigarette 
and  wandered  about  the  room. 

Eventually  I  came  to  a  standstill  before  the  Venus  of 
Milo.  But  while  I  was  admiring  its  calm,  mysterious 
beauty,  the  development  of  a  former  idea  took  the 
shape  of  an  inspiration  which  made  my  heart  sing. 
Fate  had  put  into  my  hands  the  chance  of  complete 
eumoiriety. 

If  I  could  effect  a  reconciliation  between  Lola  Brandt 
and  her  husband.  Dale  would  be  cured  almost  automati- 
cally of  his  infatuation,  and  I  should  be  the  deputy 
Providence  bringing  happiness  to  six  human  beings — 
Lola  Brandt,  Captain  Vauvenarde,  Lady  Kynnersley, 
Maisie  Ellerton,  Dale,  and  Mr.  Anastasius  Papa- 
dopoulos,  who  could  not  fail  to  be  delighted  at  the 
happiness  of  his  goddess. 

There  also  might  burst  joyously  on  the  earth  a  brood 
of  gleeful  little  Vauvenardes  and  merry  little  Kyn- 
nersleys,  who  might  regard  Simon  de  Gex  as  their 
mythical  progenitor.  It  might  add  to  the  gaiety  of 
regiments  and  the  edification  of  parliaments.  Acts 
should  be  judged,  thought  I,  not  according  to  their 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  85 

trivial  essence,  but  by  the  light  of  their  far-reaching 
consequences. 

Lola  Brandt  broke  the  silence.  She  did  not  look  at 
me.     She  said  : 

"  I  can't  help  feeling  that  you're  my  friend." 

"  I  am,"  I  cried,  in  the  exultation  of  my  promotion 
to  the  role  of  Deputy  Providence.  "  I  am  indeed.  And 
a  most  devoted  one." 

"  Will  you  let  me  think  over  what  you've  said  for 
a  day  or  two — and  then  come  for  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Willingly,"  said  I. 

"  And  you  won't ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  No.     I  know  you  won't." 

"  Tell  Dale  ?  "  I  said,  guessing.  "  No,  of  course 
not." 

She  rose  and  put  out  both  her  hands  to  me  in  a  very 
noble  gesture.     I  took  them  and  kissed  one  of  them. 

She  looked  at  me  with  parted  lips. 

"  You  are  the  best  man  I  have  ever  met,"  she  said. 

At  the  moment  of  her  saying  it  I  believed  it ;  such 
conviction  is  induced  by  the  utterances  of  this  singular 
woman.  But  when  I  got  outside  the  drawing-room 
door  my  natural  modesty  revolted.  I  slapped  my 
thigh  impatiently  with  what  I  thought  were  my  gloves. 
They  made  so  little  sound  that  I  found  there  was  only 
one  I  had  left  the  other  inside.  I  entered  and  found 
Lola  Brandt  in  front  of  the  fire  holding  my  glove  in  her 
hand.     She  started  in  some  confusion. 

"  Is  this  yours  ?  "  she  asked. 

Now  whose  could  it  have  been  but  mine  ?  The 
ridiculous  question  worried  me,  off  and  on,  all  the 
evening. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  murder  is  out.  A  paragraph  has  appeared  in  the 
newspapers  to  the  effect  that  the  marriage  arranged 
between  Mr.  Simon  de  Gex  and  Miss  Eleanor  Faversham 
will  not  take  place.  It  has  also  become  common  know- 
ledge that  I  am  resigning  my  seat  in  Parliament  on 
account  of  ill-health.  That  is  the  reason  rightly 
assigned  by  my  acquaintances  for  the  rupture  of  my 
engagement.  I  am  being  rapidly  killed  by  the  doleful 
kindness  of  my  friends.  They  are  so  dismally  S3rmpa- 
thetic.  Everywhere  I  go  there  are  long  faces  and 
solemn  hand-shakes.  In  order  to  cheer  myself  I  gave  a 
little  dinner-party  at  the  club,  and  the  function  might 
have  been  a  depressed  wake  with  my  corpse  in  a  coffin 
on  the  table.  My  sisters,  dear,  kind  souls,  follow  me 
with  anxious  eyes  as  if  I  were  one  of  their  children 
sickening  for  chicken-pox.  They  upbraid  me  for  leaving 
them  in  ignorance,  and  in  hushed  voices  inquire  as  to 
my  symptoms.  They  both  came  this  morning  to  the 
Albany  to  see  what  they  could  do  for  me.  I  don't  see 
what  they  can  do,  save  help  Rogers  put  studs  in  my 
shirts.  They  expressed  such  affectionate  concern  that 
at  last  I  cried  out : 

"  My  dear  girls,  if  you  don't  smile,  I'll  sit  upon  the 
hearth-rug  and  howl  like  a  dog." 

Then  they  exchanged  glances  and  broke  into  hectic 
gaiety,  dear  things,  under  the  impression  that  they  were 
brightening  me  up.     I  am  being  deluged  with  letters. 

86 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  87 

I  had  no  idea  I  was  such  a  popular  person.  They  come 
from  high  placed  and  lowly,  from  constituents  whom 
my  base  and  servile  flattery  has  turned  into  friends, 
from  Members  of  Parliament,  from  warm-hearted 
dowagers  and  from  little  girls  who  have  inveigled  me 
out  to  lunch  for  the  purpose  of  confiding  to  me  their 
love  affairs.  I  could  set  up  as  a  general  practitioner  of 
medicine  on  the  advice  that  is  given  me.  I  am  recom- 
mended cod-liver  oil,  lung  tonic,  electric  massage,  ab- 
dominal belts,  warm  water,  mud  baths,  Sandow's  treat- 
ment, and  every  patent  medicament  save  rat  poison.  I 
am  urged  to  go  to  health  resorts  ranging  geographically 
from  the  top  of  the  Jungfrau  to  Central  Africa.  All 
kinds  of  worthy  persons  have  offered  to  nurse  me.  Old 
General  Wynans  writes  me  a  four-page  letter  to  assure 
me  that  I  have  only  to  go  to  his  friend  Dr.  Eustace 
Adams,  of  Wimpole  Street,  to  be  cured  like  a  shot.  I 
happen  to  know  that  Eustace  Adams  is  an  eminent 
gynaecologist. 

And  the  worst  of  it  all  is  that  these  effusions  written 
in  the  milk  of  human  kindness  have  to  be  answered. 
Dale  is  not  here.  I  have  to  sit  down  at  my  desk  and 
toil  like  a  galley  slave.     I  am  being  worn  to  a  shadow. 

Lola  Brandt,  too,  has  heard  the  news,  Dale  in  Berlin 
and  the  London  newspapers  being  her  informants. 
Tears  stood  in  her  eyes  when  I  called  to  learn  her  de- 
cision. Why  had  I  not  told  her  I  was  so  ill  ?  Why 
had  I  let  her  worry  me  with  her  silly  troubles  ? 
Why  had  I  not  consulted  her  friend.  Sir  Joshua 
Oldfield  ?  She  filled  up  my  chair  with  cushions  (which, 
like  most  men,  I  find  stuffy  and  comfortless),  and  if  I 
had  given  her  the  slightest  encouragement,  would  have 
stuck  my  feet  in  hot  mustard  and  water.  Why  had  I 
come  out  on  such  a  dreadful  day  ?     It  was  indeed  a 


88  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

detestable  day  of  raw  fog.  She  pulled  the  curtains  close 
and,  insisting  upon  my  remaining  among  my  cushions, 
piled  the  grate  with  coal  half-way  up  the  chimney. 
Would  I  like  some  eucalyptus  ? 

"  My  dear  Madame  Brandt,"  I  cried,  "  my  bronchial 
tubes  and  lungs  are  as  strong  as  a  hippopotamus's." 

I  wish  every  one  would  not  conclude  that  I  was  going 
off  in  a  rapid  decline. 

Lola  Brandt  prowled  about  me  in  a  wistful  mothering 
way,  showing  me  a  fresh  side  of  her  nature.  She  is  as 
domesticated  as  Penelope. 

"  You're  fond  of  cooking,  aren't  you  ?  "  I  asked  sud- 
denly. 

She  laughed.     "  I  adore  it.     How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  guessed,"  said  I. 

"  I'm  what  the  French  call  a  vraie  hourgeoise." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  I. 

"  Are  you  ?  I  thought  your  class  hated  the  bourgeoisie." 

"  The  bourgeoisie,"  I  said,  "  is  the  nation's  granary  of 
the  virtues.  But  for  God's  sake,  don't  tell  any  one  that 
I  said  so  !  " 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked. 

"  If  it  found  its  way  into  print  it  would  ruin  my 
reputation  for  epigram." 

She  drew  a  step  or  two  towards  me  in  her  slow 
rhythmic  way  and  smiled. 

"  When  you  say  or  do  a  beautiful  thing  you  always 
try  to  bite  off  its  tail." 

Then  she  turned  and  drew  some  needlework — plain 
sewing  I  believe  they  call  it — from  beneath  the  Union 
Jack  cushion  and  sat  down. 

"  I'll  make  a  confession,"  she  said.  "  Until  now  I've 
stuffed  away  my  work  when  I  heard  you  coming.  I 
didn't  think  it  genteel.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  89 

I  scanned  the  shapeless  mass  of  linen  or  tulle  or 
whatever  it  was  on  her  lap. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  genteel,"  I  remarked, 
"  but  at  present  it  looks  like  nothing  on  God's  earth." 

My  masculine  ignorance  of  such  mysteries  made  her 
laugh.  She  is  readily  moved  to  mild  mirth,  which 
makes  her  an  easy  companion.  Besides,  little  jokes  are 
made  to  be  laughed  at,  and  I  like  women  who  laugh  at 
them.  There  was  a  brief  silence.  I  smoked  and  made 
Adolphus  stand  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  balance  sugar 
on  his  nose.  His  mistress  sewed.  Presently  she  said, 
without  looking  up  from  her  work  : 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind." 

I  rose  from  my  cushioned  seat,  into  which  Adolphus, 
evidently  thinking  me  a  fool,  immediately  snuggled 
himself,  and  I  stood  facing  her  with  my  back  to  the  fire. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  back  to  my  husband,  if  he  can  be 
found,  and,  of  course,  if  he  will  have  me." 

I  commended  her  for  a  brave  woman.  She  smiled 
rather  sadly  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Those  are  two  gigantic  '  ifs.'  " 

"  Giants  before  now  have  been  slain  by  the  valiant," 
I  replied. 

"  How  is  Captain  Vauvenarde  to  be  found  ?  " 

"  An  officer  in  the  French  Army  is  not  like  a  lost 
sparrow  in  London.  His  whereabouts  could  be 
obtained  from  the  French*^War  Office.  What^  is  his 
regiment  ?  " 

"  The  Chasseurs  d'Afrique.  Yes,"  she  added  thought- 
fully. "  I  see,  it  isn't  difficult  to  trace  him.  I  make 
one  condition,  however.     You  can't  refuse  me."  . 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Until  things  are  fixed  up  everything  must  go  on 


90  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

just  as  at  present  between  Dale  and  me.  He  is  not  to 
be  told  anything.  If  nothing  comes  of  it  then  I'U  have 
him  all  to  myself.  I  won't  give  him  up  and  be  left 
alone.  As  long  as  I  care  for  him,  I  swear  to  God,  I 
won't !  "  she  said,  in  her  low,  rich  voice — and  I  saw  by 
her  face  that  she  was  a  woman  of  her  word.  "  Besides, 
he  would  come  raving  and  imploring — and  I'm  not 
quite  a  woman  of  stone.  It  isn't  all  jam  to  go  back  to 
my  husband.  Goodness  knows  why  I  am  thinking  of 
it.     It's  for  your  sake.     Do  you  know  that  ?  " 

I  did  not.  I  was  puzzled.  Why  in  the  world  should 
Lola  Brandt,  whom  I  have  only  met  three  or  four  times, 
revolutionise  the  whole  of  her  life  for  my  sake  ? 

"  I  should  have  thought  it  was  for  Dale's,"  said  I. 

"  I  suppose  you  would,  being  a  man,"  she  replied, 

I  retorted,  with  a  smile  :  "  Woman  is  the  eternal 
conundrum  to  which  the  wise  man  always  leaves  her 
herself  to  supply  the  answer.  Doubtless  one  of  these 
days  you'll  do  it.     Meanwhile,  I'll  wait  in  patience." 

She  gave  me  one  of  her  sidelong,  flashing  glances  and 
sewed  with  more  vigour  than  appeared  necessary.  I 
admired  the  beautiful  curves  of  her  neck  and  shoulders 
as  she  bent  over  her  work.  She  seemed  too  strong  to 
wield  such  an  insignificant  weapon  as  a  needle. 

"  That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  she  said  in  reference 
to  my  last  remark.  "  I  say,  I  don't  look  forward  to 
going  back  to  my  husband — though  why  I  should  say 
'  going  back  '  I  don't  know,  as  he  left  me — not  I  him. 
Anyhow,  I'm  ready  to  do  it.  If  it  can  be  managed,  I'll 
cut  myself  adrift  suddenly  from  Dale.  It  will  be  more 
merciful  to  him.  A  man  can  bear  a  sudden  blow  better 
than  lingering  pain.  If  it  can't  be  managed,  well.  Dale 
wUl  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,  and  both  he  and  I  wiU 
be  saved  a  mortal  deal  of  worry  and  unhappiness." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  91 

"  Suppose/'^said  I,  "  it  can't  be  managed  ?  Do  you 
propose  to  keep  Dale  ignorant  of  the  danger  he  is  run- 
ning in  keeping  up  a  liaison  with  a  married  woman  living 
apart  from  her  husband  ?  " 

She  reflected.  "  If  my  husband  says  he'll  see  me 
damned  first  before  he'll  come  back  to  me,  then  I'll  tell 
Dale  everything,  and  you  can  say  what  you  like  to  him. 
He'll  be  able  to  judge  for  himself ;  but  in  the  meanwhile 
you'll  let  me  have  what  happiness  I  can." 

I  accepted  the  compromise,  and,  dispossessing  Adol- 
phus,  sat  down  again.  I  certainly  had  made  progress. 
Feeling  in  a  benevolent  mood,  I  set  forth  the  advan- 
tages she  would  reap  by  assuming  her  legal  status  ;  how 
at  last  she  would  shake  the  dust  of  Bohemia  from  off 
her  feet,  and  instead  of  standing  at  the  threshold  like  a 
disconsolate  Peri,  she  would  enter  as  a  right  the  Para- 
dise of  Philistia  which  she  craved  ;  how  her  life  would 
be  one  continual  tea-party,  and  how,  as  her  husband 
had  doubtless  by  this  time  obtained  his  promotion,  she 
would  be  authorised  to  adopt  high  and  mighty  airs  in 
her  relations  with  the  wives  of  all  the  captains  and 
lieutenants  in  the  regiment.  She  sighed  and  wondered 
whether  she  would  like  it,  after  all. 

"  Here  in  England  I  can  say  '  damn  '  as  often  as  I 
choose.  I  don't  say  it  very  often,  but  sometimes  I  feel 
I  must  say  it  or  explode." 

"  There  are  its  equivalents  in  French,"  I  suggested. 

She  laughed  outright.  "  Fancy  my  coming  out  with 
a  sacre  nom  de  Dieu  in  a  French  drawing-room  !  " 

"  Fancy  you  shouting  '  damn  '  in  an  English  one." 

"  That's  true,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  drawing-rooms 
are  the  same  all  the  world  over.  I  do  try  to  talk  like  a 
lady — at  least,  what  I  imagine  they  talk  like,  for  I've 
never  met  one." 


92  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  You  see  one  every  time  you  look  in  the  glass," 
said  I. 

Her  olive  face  flushed.  "  You  mustn't  say  such 
things  to  me  if  you  don't  mean  them.  I  like  to  think 
all  you  say  to  me  is  true." 

"  Why  in  the  world,"  I  cried,  "  should  you  not  be  a 
lady  ?  You  have  the  instincts  of  one.  How  many  of 
my  fair  friends  in  Mayfair  and  Belgravia  would  have 
made  their  drawing-rooms  unspeakable  just  for  the  sake 
of  not  hurting  the  feelings  of  Anastasius  Papado- 
poulos  ?  " 

She  put  aside  her  work  and,  leaning  over  the  arm  of 
the  chair,  her  chin  in  her  hands,  looked  at  me  gratefully. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  said  that.  Dale  can't  under- 
stand it.     He  wants  me  to  clear  the  trash  away." 

"  Dale,"  said  I,  "  is  young  and  impetuous.  I  am  a 
battered  old  philosopher  with  one  foot  in  the  grave." 

Quick  moisture  gathered  in  her  eyes.  "  You  hurt 
me,"  she  said.  "  You'll  soon  get  well  and  strong  again. 
You  must !  " 

"  Ce  que  femme  veut,  Dieu  le  veut,"  I  laughed. 

"  Eh  bien,  je  le  veux,"  she  said  with  an  odd  expression 
in  her  eyes  which  burned  golden.  They  fascinated  me, 
held  mine.  For  some  seconds  neither  of  us  moved. 
Just  consider  the  picture.  There  among  the  cushions 
of  her  chair  she  sprawled  beneath  the  light  of  a  shaded 
lamp  on  the  farther  side,  and  in  front  of  the  leaping 
flames,  a  great,  powerful,  sinuous  creature  of  sweeping 
curves,  clad  in  a  clinging  brown  dress,  her  head  crowned 
with  superb  bronze  hair,  two  warm  arms  bare  to  the 
elbow,  at  which  the  sleeve  ended  in  coffee-coloured  lace 
falling  over  the  side  of  the  chair,  and  her  leopard  eyes' 
fixed  on  me.  About  her  stiU  hung  the  echo  of  her  last 
words  spoken  in  deep  tones  whose  register  belongs  less 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  93 

to  human  habitations  than  to  the  jungle.  And  from 
her  emanated  like  a  captivating  odour — but  it  was  not 
an  odour — a  strange  magnetic  influence. 

I  have  done  my  best  to  write  her  down  in  my  mind  a 
commonplace,  vulgar,  good-natured  mountebank.  But 
I  can  do  so  no  longer. 

There  is  something  deep  down  in  the  soul  of  Lola 
Brandt  which  sets  her  apart  from  the  kindly  race  of 
womankind  ;  whether  it  is  the  devil  or  a  touch  of  pre- 
Adamite  splendour  or  an  ancestral  catamount,  I  make 
no  attempt  to  determine.  At  any  rate,  she  is  too  grand 
a  creature  to  fritter  her  life  away  on  a  statistic-hunting 
and  pheasant-shooting  young  Briton  like  Dale  Kyn- 
nersley.  He  would  never  begin  to  understand  her.  I 
will  save  her  from  Dale  for  her  own  sake. 

All  this,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  because  her  eyes  fas- 
cinated me,  and  caused  me  to  hold  my  breath,  and  made 
my  heart  beat. 

And  will  Captain  Vauvenarde  understand  her  ?  Of 
course  he  won't.  But  then  he  is  her  husband,  and 
husbands  are  notoriously  and  cum  privilegio  dunder- 
headed.  I  make  no  pretensions  to  understand  her  ; 
but  as  I  am  neither  her  lover  nor  her  husband  it  does 
not  matter.  She  says  nothing  diabolical  or  eerie  or 
fantastic  or  feline  or  pre-Adamite  or  uncanny  or  spiri- 
tual ;  and  yet  she  is,  in  a  queer,  indescribable  way,  all 
these  things. 

"  Je  le  veux,"  she  said,  and  we  drank  in  each  other's 
souls,  or  gaped  at  each  other  like  a  pair  of  idiots,  just  as 
you  please.  I  had  a  horrible,  yet  pleasurable  conscious- 
ness that  she  had  gripped  hold  of  my  nerves  of  volition. 
She  was  willing  me  to  live.  I  was  a  puppet  in  her  hands 
like  the  wild  tom-cat.  At  that  moment  I  declare  I 
could  have  purred  and  rubbed  my  head  against  her 


94  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

knee.  I  would  have  done  anything  she  bade  me.  If 
she  had  sent  me  to  fetch  the  Cham  of  Tartary's  cap  or  a 
hair  of  Prester  John's  beard,  I  would  have  telephoned 
forthwith  to  Rogers  to  pack  a  suit-case  and  book  a  seat 
in  the  Orient  express. 

What  would  have  happened  next  Heaven  alone 
knows — for  we  could  not  have  gone  on  gazing  at  each 
other  until  I  backed  myself  out  at  the  door  by  way  of 
leave-taking — had  not  Anticlimax  arrived  in  the  person 
of  Mr.  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  in  his  eternal  frock- 
coat.     But  his  gloves  were  black. 

As  usual  he  fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  his  lady's  hand. 
Then  he  rose  and  greeted  me  with  solemn  affability. 

"  C'est  un  privilege  de  rencontrer  den  gnadigsten  Herrn," 
said  he. 

Confining  myself  to  one  language,  I  responded  by 
informing  him  that  it  was  an  honour  always  to  meet 
so  renowned  a  professor,  and  inquired  politely  after  the 
health  of  Hephsestus. 

"  Ah,  signor  !  "  he  cried.  "  Do  not  ask  me.  It  isa 
tragedy  from  which  I  shall  never  recover." 

He  sat  down  on  a  footstool  by  the  side  of  Madame 
Brandt  and  burst  into  tears,  which  coursed  down  his 
cheeks  and  moustache  and  hung  like  drops  of  dew  from 
the  point  of  his  imperial. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Madame. 

"  I  wish  he  were,  das  Ungeheuer  !  No.  It  is  only 
the  iron  self-restraint  that  I  possess  which  prevented 
me  from  slaying  him  on  the  spot.  But  poor  Santa 
Bianca  !  Das  arme  Liebchen  !  La  povera  !  My  gentle 
and  accomplished  Angora  !  He  has  killed  her.  I  can 
scarcely  raise  my  head  through  grief." 

Lola  put  her  great  arm  round  the  little  man's  neck 
and  patted  him  like  a  child,  while  he  sobbed  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  95 

When  he  recovered  he  gave  us  the  details  of  the  tragic 
end  of  Santa  Bianca,  and  wound  up  by  caUing  down  the 
most  ingeniously  complicated  and  passionate  curses  on 
the  head  of  the  murderer,  Lola  Brandt  strove  to  pacify 
him. 

"  We  all  have  our  sorrows,  Anastasius.  Did  I  not 
lose  my  beautiful  horse  Sultan  ?  " 

The  professor  sprang  to  his  full  height  of  four  feet  and 
dashed  away  his  tears  with  a  noble  gesture  of  his  black- 
gloved  hand. 

Base  slave  that  he  was  to  think  of  his  own  petty 
bereavement  in  the  face  of  her  eternal  affliction.  He 
turned  to  me  and  bade  me  mark  her  serene  nobility. 
It  was  a  model  and  an  example  for  him  to  follow.  He, 
too,  would  be  brave  and  present  a  smiling  face  to  evil 
fortune. 

"  Behold  !  I  smile,  Carissima  !  "  he  cried  dramati- 
cally. 

We  beheld — and  saw  his  features  (smudged  with 
tear-stains  and  the  dye  from  the  black  gloves  which 
he  obviously  wore  out  of  respect  for  the  deceased 
Santa  Bianca)  contorted  into  a  grimace  of  hideous 
imbecility. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  assuming  his  natural  expression 
which  was  one  of  pensive  melancholy,  "  let  us  change 
the  conversation.  You  are  a  great  statesman.  Will 
you  kindly  let  me  know  your  opinion  on  the  foreign 
policy  of  Germany  ?  " 

Whereupon  he  sat  down  again  on  his  stool  and 
regarded  me  with  earnest  attention. 

"  Germany,"  said  I,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  Sir  Oracle 
in  the  smoking-room  of  one  of  the  political  clubs,  "  has 
dreams  of  an  empire  beyond  her  frontiers,  and  with  a 
view  to  converting  the  dream  into  a  reality,  is  turning 
out  battleships  nineteen  to  the  dozen." 


96  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

The  Professor  nodded  his  head  sagaciously,  and 
looked  up  at  Lola. 

"  Very  profound,"  said  he,  "  very  profound.  I  shall 
remember  it.  I  am  a  Greek,  monsieur,  and  the  Greeks, 
as  you  know,  are  a  nation  of  diplomatists." 

"  Ever  since  the  days  of  Xenophon,"  said  I. 

"  You're  both  too  clever  for  me,"  exclaimed  our 
hostess.  "  Where  did  you  get  your  knowledge  from, 
Anastasius  ?  " 

The  Professor,  flattered,  passed  his  hand  over  his 
bulgy  forehead. 

"  I  was  a  great  student  in  my  youth,"  said  he.  "  Once 
I  could  tell  you  all  the  kings  of  Rome  and  the  date  of 
the  battle  of  Actium.  But  pressure  of  weightier  con- 
cerns {des  affaires  mehr  wichtig)  " — his  was  indeed  the 
most  eccentric  jargon  I  have  ever  heard — "  has  driven 
my  erudition  from  me.  Ma  reine,"  he  continued,  after 
a  slight  pause,  "  pardon  me.  I  have  not  yet  asked 
after  your  health.  You  are  looking  sad  and  troubled. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

He  sat  bolt  upright,  fingering  his  imperial  and  regard- 
ing her  with  the  keen  solicitude  of  a  family  physician. 
To  my  amazement,  Lola  Brandt  told  him  quite  simply  : 

"  I  am  thinking  of  living  with  my  husband  again." 

"  Has  the  traitor  been  annoying  you  ?  "  he  asked 
with  a  touch  of  fierceness. 

"  Oh  no  !  It's  my  own  idea.  I'm  tired  of  living 
alone.     I  don't  even  know  where  he  is." 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  communicate  with  him  unless  I  do  ?  " 

Anastasius  Papadopoulos  rose,  struck  an  attitude, 
and  thumped  his  breast. 

"  I  will  seek  him  for  you  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
will  bring  him  to  prostrate  himself  at  your  feet." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  97 

"  That's  very  kind  of  you,  Anastasius,"  said  Lola 
gently  ;   "  but  what  will  become  of  your  cats  ?  " 

The  dwarf  raised  his  hand  impressively. 

"  The  Almighty  \vill  have  them  in  His  keeping.  I 
have  also  my  pupil  and  assistant,  Quast." 

Lola  smiled  indulgently  from  her  cushions,  showing 
her  curious  even  teeth. 

"  You  mustn't  do  anything  so  mad,  Anastasius  ;  I 
forbid  you." 

"  Madame,"  said  he  in  a  most  stately  manner, 
"  when  I  devote  myself,  it  is  to  the  death.  I  have  the 
honour  to  salute  you  !  " — he  bowed  over  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  "  Monsieur."  He  bowed  to  me  with  the 
profundity  of  a  hidalgo,  and  trotted  magnificently  out 
of  the  room. 

It  was  all  so  sudden  that  it  took  my  breath  away. 

"  Well  I'm "     I  didn't  know  what  I  was,  so  I 

stopped.  Lola  Brandt  broke  into  low  laughter  at  my 
astonishment. 

"  That's  Anastasius's  way,"  she  explained. 

"  But  the  little  man  surely  isn't  going  to  leave  his 
cats  and  start  on  a  wild-goose  chase  over  Europe  to 
find  your  husband  ?  " 

"  He  thinks  he  is,  but  I  shan't  let  him." 

"  I  hope  you  won't,"  said  I.  "  And  will  you  tell  me 
why  you  made  so  hot-headed  a  person  your  confidant?  " 

I  confess  that  I  was  wrathful.  Here  had  I  been  using 
the  wiles  of  a  Balkan  chancery  to  bring  the  lady  to  my 
way  of  thinking,  and  here  was  she,  to  my  face,  making 
a  joke  of  it  with  this  caricature  of  a  Paladin. 

"  My  dearest  friend,"  she  replied  earnestly,  "  don't  be 
angry  with  me.  I've  given  the  poor  little  man  some- 
thing to  think  of  besides  the  death  of  his  cat.  It  will 
do  him  good.     And  why  shouldn't  I  tell  him  ?     He's  a 

G 


98  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

dear  old  friend,  and  in  his  way  was  so  good  to  me  when 
I  was  unhappy.  He  knows  all  about  my  married  life. 
You  may  think  he's  half-witted ;  but  he  isn't.  In 
ordinary  business  dealings  he's  as  shrewd  as  they  make 
'em.  The  manager  who  beats  Anastasius  over  a  con- 
tract is  yet  to  be  born." 

By  some  extraordinary  process  of  the  contortionist's 
art,  she  curled  herself  out  of  her  chair  on  to  the  hearth- 
rug and  knelt  before  me,  her  hands  clasped  on  my  knee. 

"  You're  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked 
in  her  rich  contralto. 

I  took  both  her  hands,  rose,  and  assisted  her  to  rise. 
I  was  not  going  to  be  mesmerised  again. 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  laughed.  Indeed  my  wrath  had 
fallen  from  me. 

Her  bosom  heaved  with  a  sigh.  "  I'm  so  glad,"  she 
said.  Her  breath  fanned  my  cheek.  It  was  aromatic, 
intoxicating.     Her  lips  are  ripe  and  full. 

"  You  had  better  find  your  husband  as  soon  as 
possible,"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  And  it  strikes  me  I  had  better  go  and 
find  him  myself." 

She  started.     "  You  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  The  Chasseurs  d'Afrique  are  prob- 
ably in  Africa,  and  the  doctors  have  ordered  me  to 
winter  in  a  hot  climate,  and  I  shall  go  on  writing  a 
million  letters  a  day  if  I  stay  here,  which  will  kill  me  off 
in  no  time  with  brain  fag  and  writer's  cramp.  Your 
husband  will  be  what  the  newspapers  call  an  objective. 
Good-bye ! "  said  I,  "  I'll  bring  him  to  you  dead  or  alive." 

And  without  knowing  it  at  the  time,  I  made  an  exit 
as  magnificent  as  that  of  Professor  Anastasius  Papado- 
poulos. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  DO  not  know  whether  I  ought  to  laugh  or  rail.  Judged 
by  the  ordinary  canons  that  regulate  the  respectable 
life  to  which  I  have  been  accustomed,  I  am  little  short 
of  a  lunatic.  The  question  is  :  Does  the  recognition  of 
lunacy  in  oneself  tend  to  amusement  or  anger  ?  I  com- 
promise with  myself.  I  am  angry  at  having  been 
forced  on  an  insane  adventure,  but  the  prospect  of  its 
absurdity  gives  me  considerable  pleasure. 

Let  me  set  it  down  once  and  for  all :  I  resent  Lola 
Brandt's  existence.  When  I  am  out  of  her  company 
I  can  contemplate  her  calmly  from  my  vantage  of 
social  and  intellectual  superiority.  I  can  pooh-pooh 
her  fascinations.  I  can  crack  jokes  on  her  shortcomings. 
I  can  see  perfectly  well  that  I  am  Simon  de  Gex,  M.P. 
(I  have  not  yet  been  appointed  to  the  stewardship  of 
the  Chiltern  Hundreds),  of  Eton  and  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  a  barrister  of  the  Inner  Temple  (though  a 
brief  would  cause  me  as  much  dismay  as  a  command 
to  conduct  the  orchestra  at  Covent  Garden),  formerly 
of  the  Foreign  Office,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  diner-out, 
a  hardened  jester  at  feminine  wiles,  a  cynical  student 
of  philosophy,  a  man  of  birth,  and,  I  believe,  breeding, 
with  a  cultivated  taste  in  wine  and  food  and  furniture, 
one  also  who,  but  for  a  little  pain  inside,  would  soon 
become  a  Member  of  His  Majesty's  Government,  and 
eventually  drop  the  "  Esquire  "  at  the  end  of  his  name 
and  stick  "  The  Right  Honourable  "  in  front  of  it — in 

99 


loo  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

fact,  a  most  superior,  wise  and  important  person  ;  and 
I  can  ako  see  perfectly  well  that  Lola  Brandt  is  an  un- 
educated, lowly  bred,  vagabond  female,  with  a  taste,  as 
I  have  remarked  before,  for  wild  beasts  and  tea-parties, 
with  whom  I  have  as  much  in  common  as  I  have  with 
the  feathered  lady  on  a  coster's  donkey-cart  or  the  Fat 
Woman  at  the  Fair,  I  can  see  all  this  perfectly  well  in 
the  calm  seclusion  of  my  library.  But  when  I  am  in 
her  presence  my  superiority,  like  Bob  Acres's  valour, 
oozes  out  through  my  finger-tips  ;  I  become  a  besotted 
idiot  ;  the  sense  and  the  sight  and  the  sound  of  her 
overpower  me  ;  I  proclaim  her  rich  and  remarkable 
personality  ;  and  I  bask  in  her  lazy  smiles  like  any  silly 
undergraduate  whose  knowledge  of  women  has  hitherto 
been  limited  to  his  sisters  and  the  common  little  girl 
at  the  tobacconist's. 

I  say  I  resent  it.  I  resent  the  low  notes  in  her  voice. 
I  resent  the  caj  olery  of  the  supple  twists  of  her  body.  I 
resent  her  putting  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and,  as 
the  twopenny-halfpenny  poets  say,  fanning  my  cheek 
with  her  breath.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that  I  should 
never  have  promised  to  go  in  search  of  her  impossible 
husband.  At  any  rate,  it  is  easy  to  discover  his  where- 
abouts. A  French  bookseller  has  telegraphed  to  Paris 
for  the  Annuaire  Officiel  de  I'Armee  Franraise,  the 
French  Army  List.  It  locates  every  officer  in  the 
French  army,  and  as  the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique  generally 
chase  in  Africa,  it  will  tell  me  the  station  in  Algeria  or 
Tunisia  which  Captain  Vauvenarde  adorns.  I  can  go 
straight  to  him  as  Madame  Brandt's  plenipotentiary, 
and  if  the  unreasonable  and  fire-eating  warrior  does 
not  run  me  through  the  body  for  impertinence  before 
he  has  time  to  appreciate  the  delicacy  of  my  mission, 
I  may  be  able  to  convince  him  that  a  well-to-do  wife 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  loi 

is  worth  the  respectable  consideration  of  a  hard-up 
captain  of  Chasseurs.  I  say  I  may  be  able  to  convince 
him  ;  but  I  shrink  from  the  impudence  of  the  encounter. 
I  am  to  accost  a  total  stranger  in  a  foreign  army  and 
tell  him  to  return  to  his  wife.  This  is  the  pretty  httle 
mission  I  have  undertaken.  It  sounded  glorious  and 
eumoirous  and  quixotic  and  deucedly  funny,  during  the 
noble  moment  of  inspiration,  when  Lola's  golden  eyes 
were  upon  me  ;  but  now — well,  I  shall  have  to  persuade 
myself  that  it  is  funny,  if  I  am  to  carry  it  out.  It  is 
very  much  like  wagering  that  one  will  tweak  by  the  nose 
the  first  gentleman  in  gaiters  and  shovel-hat  one  meets 
in  Piccadilly.  This  by  some  is  considered  the  quintes- 
sence of  comedy.  I  foresee  a  revision  of  my  sense  of 
humour. 

This  afternoon  I  met  Lady  Kynnersley  agam — at  the 
Ellertons'.  I  was  talking  to  Maisie,  who  has  grown  no 
happier,  when  I  saw  her  sailing  across  to  me  with  ques- 
tions hoisted  in  her  eyes.  Being  particularly  desirous 
not  to  report  progress  periodically  to  Lady  Kynnersley, 
I  made  a  desperate  move.  I  went  forward  and  greeted 
her. 

"  Lady  Kynnersley,"  said  I,  "  somebody  was  telling 
me  that  you  are  in  urgent  need  of  funds  for  something. 
With  my  usual  wooden-headedness  I  have  forgotten 
what  it  is — but  1  know  it  is  a  deserving  organisation." 

The  philanthropist,  as  I  hoped,  ousted  the  mother. 
She  exclaimed  at  once  : 

"  It  must  have  been  the  Cabmen  and  Omnibus 
Drivers'  Rheumatic  Hospital." 

"  That  was  it !  "  said  I,  hearing  of  the  institution 
for  the  first  time. 

"  They  are  martyrs  to  rheumatic  gout,  and  of  course 
have  no  means  of  obtaining  proper  treatment ;    so  we 


I02  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

have  secured  a  site  at  Harrogate  and  are  building  a 
comfortable  place,  half  hospital,  half  hotel,  where  they 
can  be  put  up  for  a  shilling  a  day  and  have  all  the 
benefits  of  the  waters  just  as  if  they  were  staying  at  the 
Hotel  Majestic.     Do  you  want  to  become  a  subscriber  ? " 

"  I  am  eager  to,"  said  I. 

"  Then  come  over  here  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it," 

I  sat  with  her  in  a  corner  of  the  room  and  listened  to 
her  fairy-tale.  She  wrung  my  heart  to  such  a  pitch  of 
sympathy  that  I  rose  and  grasped  her  by  the  hand, 

"  It  is  indeed  a  noble  project,"  I  cried.  "  I  love  the 
London  cabby  as  my  brother,  and  I'll  post  you  a  cheque 
for  a  thousand  pounds  this  evening.     Good-bye  !  " 

I  left  her  in  a  state  of  joyous  stupefaction  and  made 
my  escape.  If  it  had  not  fallen  in  with  my  general 
scheme  of  good  works  I  should  regard  it  as  an  expensive 
method  of  avoiding  unpleasant  questions. 

Another  philanthropist,  by  the  way,  of  quite  a  dif- 
ferent type  from  Lady  Kynnersley,  who  has  lately 
benefited  by  my  eleemosynary  mania  is  Rex  Campion. 
I  have  known  him  since  our  University  days  and  have 
maintained  a  sincere  though  desultory  friendship  with 
him  ever  since.  He  is  also  a  friend  of  Eleanor  Faver- 
sham,  whom  he  now  and  then  inveigles  into  weird  doings 
in  the  impossible  slums  of  South  Lambeth.  He  has  tried 
on  many  occasions  to  lure  me  into  his  web,  but  hitherto 
I  have  resisted.  Being  the  possessor  of  a  large  fortune, 
he  has  been  able  to  gratify  a  devouring  passion  for 
philanthropy,  and  has  squandered  most  of  his  money 
on  an  institution — a  kind  of  club,  school,  labour-bureau, 
dispensary,  soup-kitchen,  all  rolled  into  one — in  Lam- 
beth ;  and  there  he  lives  himself,  perfectly  happy  among 
a  hungry,  grubby,  scarecrow,  tatterdemalion  crowd. 
At  a  loss  for  a  defining  name,  he  has  called  it '-'  Barbara's 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  103 

Building,"  after  his  mother.  His  conception  of  the 
cosmos  is  that  sun,  moon,  and  stars  revolve  round 
Barbara's  Building.  How  he  learned  that  I  was,  so  to 
speak,  standing  at  street  corners  and  flinging  money 
into  the  laps  of  the  poor  and  needy,  I  know  not.  But 
he  came  to  see  me  a  day  or  two  ago,  full  of  Barbara's 
Building,  and  departed  in  high  feather  with  a  cheque 
for  a  thousand  pounds  in  his  pocket. 

I  may  remark  here  on  the  peculiar  difficulty  there 
is  in  playing  Monte  Cristo  with  anything  like  picturesque 
grace.  Any  dull  dog  that  owns  a  pen  and  a  banking- 
account  can  write  out  cheques  for  charitable  institutions. 
But  to  accomplish  anything  personal,  imaginative, 
adventurous,  anything  with  a  touch  of  distinction,  is  a 
less  easy  matter.  You  wake  up  in  the  morning  with 
the  altruistic  yearnings  of  a  St.  Frangois  de  Sales,  and 
yet  somehow  you  go  to  bed  in  the  evening  with  the 
craving  unsatisfied.  You  have  really  had  so  few 
opportunities  ;  and  when  an  occasion  does  arise  it  is 
hedged  around  with  such  difficulties  as  to  baffle  all  but 
the  most  persistent.  Have  you  ever  tried  to  give  a 
beggar  a  five-pound  note  ?     I  did  this  morning. 

She  was  a  miserable,  shivering,  starving  woman  of 
fifty  selling  matches  in  Sackville  Street.  She  held  out 
a  shrivelled  hand  to  me,  and  eyes  that  once  had  been 
beautiful  pleaded  hungrily  for  alms. 

"  Here,"  said  I  to  myself,  "is  an  opportunity  of 
bringing  unimagined  gladness  for  a  month  or  two  into 
this  forlorn  creature's  life." 

I  pressed  a  five-pound  note  into  her  hand  and  passed 
on.     She  ran  after  me,  terror  on  her  face. 

"  I  daren't  take  it,  sir  ;  they  would  say  I  had  stolen 
it,  and  I  should  be  locked  up.  No  one  would  believe  a 
gentleman  had  given  it  to  me." 


104  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

She  trembled,  overwhelmed  by  the  colossal  fortune 
that  might,  and  yet  might  not,  be  hers.  I  sympathised, 
but  not  having  the  change  in  gold,  I  could  do  no  more 
than  listen  to  an  incoherent  tale  of  misery,  which  did 
not  aid  the  solution  of  the  problem.  It  was  manifestly 
impossible  to  take  back  the  note  ;  and  yet  if  she  retained 
it  she  would  be  subjected  to  scandalous  indignities. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  I  turned  my  eyes  towards 
Piccadilly  and  beheld  a  policeman.  A  page  wearing 
the  name  of  a  milliner's  shop  on  his  cap  whisked  past 
me.     I  stopped  him  and  slipped  a  shilling  into  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  ask  that  policeman  to  come  to  me  ?  " 

The  boy  tore  down  the  street  and  told  the  policeman 
and  followed  him  up  to  me,  eager  for  amusement. 

"  What  has  the  woman  been  doing,  sir  ?  "  asked  the 
policeman. 

"  Nothing,"  said  I.  "I  have  given  her  a  five-pound 
note." 

"  What  for,  sir  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  further  my  pursuit  of  the  eumoirous,"  said  I, 
whereat  he  gaped  stolidly  ;  "  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I 
have  given  it  her  as  a  free  gift,  and  she  is  afraid  to 
present  it  anywhere  lest  she  should  be  charged  with 
theft.  Will  you  kindly  accompany  her  to  a  shop,  where 
she  can  change  it,  and  vouch  for  her  honesty  ?  " 

The  policeman,  who  seemed  to  form  the  lowest  opinion 
of  my  intellect,  said  he  didn't  know  a  shop  on  his  beat 
where  they  could  change  it.  The  boy  whistled.  The 
woman  held  the  box  of  matches  in  one  hand,  and  in 
the  other  the  note,  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  Idlers 
paused  and  looked  on.  The  policeman  grew  authorita- 
tive and  bade  them  pass  along.  They  crowded  all 
the  more.  My  position  was  becoming  embarrassing. 
At  last  the  boy,  remembering  the  badge  of  honour  on 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  105 

his  cap,  undertook  to  change  the  note  at  the  hatter's 
at  the  comer  of  the  street.  So,  having  given  the  note 
to  the  boy  and  bidden  the  poUceman  follow  him  to  see 
fair  play,  and  encouraged  the  woman  to  follow  the 
policeman,  I  resumed  my  walk  down  Sackville  Street. 
But  what  a  pother  about  a  simple  act  of  charity  !  In 
order  to  repeat  it  habitually  I  shall  have  to  rely  on  the 
fortuitous  attendance  of  a  boy  and  a  policeman,  or  have 
a  policeman  and  a  boy  permanently  attached  to  my 
person,  which  would  be  as  agreeable  as  the  continuous 
escort  of  a  jackdaw  and  a  yak. 

Poor  Latimer  is  having  a  dreadful  time.  Apparently 
my  ten  thousand  pounds  have  vanished  like  a  snowflake 
on  the  river  of  his  liabilities.  How  he  is  to  repay  me 
he  does  not  know.  He  wishes  he  had  not  yielded  to 
temptation  and  had  allowed  himself  to  be  honestly 
hammered.  Then  he  could  have  taken  his  family  to 
sing  in  the  streets  with  a  quiet  conscience. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  I  through  the  telephone  this 
morning.     "  What  are  ten  thousand  pounds  to  me  ?  " 

1  heard  him  gasp  at  the  other  end. 

"  But  you're  not  a  millionaire  !  " 

"  I  am  !  "  I  cried  triumphantly.  And  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  spoke  truly.  If  a  man  reckons  his  capital 
as  half  a  year's  income,  doubles  it,  and  works  out  the 
capital  that  such  a  yearly  income  represents,  he  is  the 
possessor  of  a  mint  of  money. 

"  I  am,"  I  cried  ;  "  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'll  settle  five  thousand  on  Lucy  and  the  children,  so 
that  they  needn't  accompany  you  in  your  singing 
excursions.  I  shouldn't  like  them  to  catch  cold,  poor 
dears,  and  ruin  their  voices." 

In  tones  more  than  telephonically  agonised  he  bade 


io6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

me  not  make  a  jest  of  his  misery.     I  nearly  threw  the 
receiver  at  the  blockhead. 

"  I'm  not  jesting,"  I  bawled  ;  "  I'm  deadly  serious. 
I  knew  Lucy  before  you  did,  and  I  kissed  her  and  she 
kissed  me  years  before  she  knew  of  your  high  existence  ; 
and  if  she  had  been  a  sensible  woman  she  would  have 
married  me  instead  of  you — what  ?  The  first  time 
you've  heard  of  it  ?  Of  course  it  is — and  be  decently 
thankful  that  you  hear  it  now." 

It  is  pleasant  sometimes  to  tell  the  husbands  of  girls 
you  have  loved  exactly  what  you  think  of  them  ;  and  I 
had  loved  Lucy  Latimer.  She  came,  an  English  rose, 
to  console  me  for  the  loss  of  my  French  fleur-de-lys, 
Clothilde.  Or  was  it  the  other  way  about  ?  One  does 
get  so  mixed  in  these  things  !  At  any  rate,  she  did  not 
marry  me,  her  first  love,  but  jilted  me  most  abominably 
for  Latimer.  So  I  shall  heap  five  thousand  pounds  on 
her  head. 

I  have  been  unfortunate  in  my  love  affairs.  I  wonder 
why  ?  Which  reminds  me  that  I  made  the  identical 
remark  to  Lucy  Latimer  a  month  or  two  ago.  (She  is  a 
plump,  kind,  motherly,  unromantic  little  person  now.) 
She  had  the  audacity  to  reply  that  I  had  never  had  any. 

"  You,  Lucy  Crooks,  dare  say  such  a  thing  !  "  I 
exclaimed  indignantly. 

She  smiled.  "  Are  there  many  more  qualified  than 
I  to  give  the  opinion  ?  " 

I  remember  that  I  rose  and  looked  her  sternly  in  the 
face. 

"  Lucy  Crooks  or  Lucy  Latimer,"  said  I,  "  you  are 
nothing  more  or  less  than  a  common  hussy." 

Whereupon  she  laughed  as  if  I  had  paid  her  a  high 
compliment." 

I  maintain  that  I  have  been  unfortunate  in  my  love 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  107 

affairs.  First,  there  was  an  angel-faced  widow,  a  con- 
temporary of  my  mother's,  whom  I  wooed  in  Greek 
verses — and  let  me  tell  the  young  lover  that  it  is  much 
easier  to  write  your  own  doggerel  and  convert  it  into 
Greek  than  to  put  "  To  Althea  "  into  decent  Anacre- 
ontics. I  also  took  her  to  the  Eton  and  Harrow  match, 
and  talked  to  her  of  women's  hats  and  the  things  she 
loved,  and  neglected  the  cricket.  But  she  would  have 
none  of  me.  In  the  flood  tide  of  my  passion  she  married 
a  scorbutic  archdeacon  of  the  name  of  Jugg.  Then 
there  was  a  lady  whose  name  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't 
remember.  It  was  something  ending  in  "  -ine."  We 
quarrelled  because  we  held  divergent  views  on  Mr. 
Wilson  Barrett.  Then  there  was  Clothilde,  whose  tragical 
story  I  have  already  unfolded ;  Lucy  Crooks,  who 
threw  me  over  for  this  dear,  amiable,  wooden-headed 
stockjobbing  Latimer  ;  X,  Y  and  Z — but  here,  let  me 
remark,  I  was  the  hunted — mammas  spread  nets  for  me 
which  by  the  grace  of  heaven  and  the  ungraciousness  of 
the  damsels  I  escaped ;  and,  lastly,  my  incomparable 
Eleanor  Faversham.  Now,  I  thought,  am  I  safe  in 
harbour  ?  If  ever  a  match  could  have  been  labelled 
"  Pure  heaven-made  goods,  warranted  not  to  shrink  " 
— that  was  one.  But  for  this  rupture  there  is  an  all- 
accounting  reason.  For  the  others  there  was  none.  I 
vow  I  went  on  falling  in  love  until  I  grew  absolutely  sick 
and  tired  of  the  condition.  You  see,  the  vocabulary  of 
the  pastime  is  so  confoundedly  limited.  One  has  to  say 
to  B  what  one  has  said  to  A  ;  to  C  exactly  what  one 
has  said  to  A  and  B  ;  and  when  it  comes  to  repeating 
to  F  the  formularies  one  has  uttered  to  A,  B,  C,  D,  and 
E  one  grows  almost  hysterical  with  the  boredom  of  it. 
That  was  the  delightful  charm  of  Eleanor  Faversham  ; 
she  demanded  no  formularies  or  re-enactment  of  raptures. 


io8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Well,  one  thing  is  certain.  I  shall  never  have  another 
love  affair.     I  am  not  sorry. 

The  Annuaire  Officiel  de  I'  Armee  Frawcws^  has  arrived. 
It  is  a  volume  of  nearly  eighteen  hundred  pages,  and 
being  uncut  both  at  top  and  bottom  and  at  the  side  it  is 
peculiarly  serviceable  as  a  work  of  reference,  I  attacked 
it  bravely,  however,  hacking  my  way  into  it,  paper- 
knife  in  hand.  But  to  my  dismay,  the  more  I  hacked 
the  less  could  I  find  of  Captain  Vauvenarde.  I  sought 
him  in  the  Alphabetical  Repertory  of  Metropolitan 
Troops,  in  the  Alphabetical  Repertory  of  Colonial  Troops, 
in  the  list  of  officers  hors  cadre,  in  the  lists  of  seniority, 
in  the  list  of  his  regiment,  wherever  he  was  likely  or 
unlikely  to  be.  There  is  no  person  in  the  French  army 
by  the  name  of  Vauvenarde. 

I  went  straight  to  Lola  Brandt  with  the  hideous 
volume  and  the  unwelcome  news.  Together  we 
searched  the  pages. 

"  He  must  be  here,"  she  said,  with  feminine  disregard 
of  fact. 

"  Are  you  quite  certain  you  have  got  the  name 
right  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  it  is  my  own  name  !  " 

"  So  it  is,"  said  I  ;  "I  was  forgetting.  But  how  do 
you  know  he  was  in  the  army  at  all  ?  " 

He  might  have  been  an  adventurer,  a  Captain  of 
Kopenick  of  the  day,  who  had  poured  a  gallant  but 
mendacious  tale  into  her  ears. 

"  I  hardly  ever  saw  him  out  of  uniform.  He  was 
quartered  at  Marseilles  on  special  duty.  I  knew  some 
of  his  brother  officers." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  there  are  only  two  alternatives. 
Either  he  has  left  the  army  or  he  is " 

''  Dead  ?  "  she  whispered. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  109 

"  Let  us  hope,"  said  I,  "  that  he  has  left  the  army." 

"  You  must  find  out,  Mr.  de  Gex,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  took  it  for  granted  that  my  husband  was 
alive.  Its  horrible  to  think  that  he  may  be  dead.  It 
alters  everything,  somehow.  Until  I  know,  I  shall  be 
in  a  state  of  awful  suspense.  You'll  make  inquiries  at 
once,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Did  you  love  your  husband,  Madame  Brandt  ?  " 
I  asked. 

She  looked  at  the  fire  for  some  time  without  replying. 
She  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  fender. 

"  I  thought  I  did  when  I  married  him,"  she  said  at 
last.     "  I  thought  I  did  when  he  left  me." 

"  And  now  ?  "  — 

She  turned  her  golden  eyes  fuU  on  me.  It  is  a  dis- 
concerting trick  of  hers  at  any  time,  because  her  eyes 
are  at  once  wistful  and  compelling  ;  but  on  this  occasion 
it  was  startling.  They  held  mine  for  some  seconds,  and 
I  caught  in  them  a  glimpse  of  the  hieroglyphic  of  the 
woman's  soul.  Then  she  turned  her  head  slowly  and 
looked  again  into  the  fire. 

"Now  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  Many  things  have  happened 
between  then  and  now.  If  he  is  alive  and  I  go  to  him, 
I'll  try  to  think  again  that  I  love  him.  It  will  be  the 
only  way.  It  will  save  me  from  playing  hell  with  my 
life." 

"  I  am  glad  you  see  your  relations  to  Dale  in  that 
light,"   said  I. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Dale,"  she  said  calmly. 

"  Of  what,  then,  if  I  may  ask  without  impertinence  ?  " 

She  broke  into  a  laugh  which  ended  in  a  sigh,  and  then 
swung  her  splendid  frame  away  from  the  fireplace  and 
walked  backwards  and  forwards,  her  figure  swaying  and 
her  arms  flung  about  in  unrestrained  gestures. 


no  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  she  said,  with  an  odd  note  of 
hardness  in  her  voice.  "  You're  quite  right  in  what  you 
said  the  other  day — that  it  was  high  time  I  went  back 
to  my  husband.  I  pray  God  he  is  not  dead.  I  have  a 
feeling  that  he  isn't.  He  can't  be.  I  count  on  you 
to  find  him  and  ask  him  to  meet  me.  It  would  be  better 
than  writing.  I  don't  know  what  to  say  when  I  have 
a  pen  in  my  hand.  You  must  find  him  and  speak  to 
him  and  send  me  a  wire  and  I'll  come  straight  away  to 
any  part  of  the  earth.  Or  would  you  like  me  to  come 
with  you  and  help  you  find  him  ?  But  no  ;  that's 
idiotic.  Forget  that  I  have  said  it.  I'm  a  fool.  But 
he  must  be  found.     He  must,  he  must !  " 

She  paused  in  her  swinging  about  the  room  for  which 
I  was  sorry,  as  her  panther-in-a-cage  movements  were 
exceedingly  beautiful,  and  she  gazed  at  me  with  a 
tragedy  air,  wringing  her  hands.  I  was  puzzled  to  find 
an  adequate  reason  for  this  sudden  emotional  outburst. 
Hitherto  she  had  accepted  the  prospect  of  a  resumption 
of  married  life  with  a  fatalistic  calm.  Now  when  the 
man  is  either  dead  or  has  vanished  into  space,  she  pins 
all  her  hopes  of  happiness  on  finding  him.  And  why 
had  her  salvation  from  destruction  nothing  to  do  with 
Dale  ?  There  is  obviously  another  range  of  emotions 
at  work  beneath  it  all ;  but  what  their  nature  is  baffles 
me.  Although  I  contemplate  with  equanimity  my  little 
corner  in  the  Garden  of  Proserpine,  and  with  indifference 
this  common  lodging-house  of  earth,  and  although  I 
view  mundane  affairs  with  the  same  fine,  calm,  philo- 
sophic, satirical  eye  as  if  I  were  already  a  disembodied 
spirit,  yet  I  do  not  like  to  be  baffled.  It  makes  me 
angry.  But  during  this  interview  with  Lola  Brandt 
I  had  not  time  to  be  angry.  I  am  angry  now.  In  fact 
I  am  in  a  condition  bordering  on  that  of  a  mad  dog.     If 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  in 

Rogers  came  and  disturbed  me  now,  as  I  am  writing,  I 
would  bite  him.  But  I  will  set  calmly  down  the  story 
of  this  appalling  afternoon. 

Lola  stood  before  me  wringing  her  hands. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  get  an  introduction  to  the  Chef  de  bureau  of 
the  information  department  of  the  Ministere  de  la  Guerre 
in  Paris,"  I  replied  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  He 
will  be  able  to  tell  me  whether  Captain  Vauvenarde  is 
alive  or  dead." 

"  He  is  alive.     He  must  be." 

"  Very  well."  said  I.  "  But  I  doubt  whether  Captain 
Vauvenarde  keeps  the  office  informed  of  his  movements. 

"  But  you'll  go  in  search  of  him,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  The  earth  is  rather  a  large  place,"  I  objected.  "  He 
may  be  in  Dieppe,  or  he  may  be  on  top  of  Mount 
Popocatapetl." 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  find  him,"  she  said  encouragingly. 

"  You'll  own,"  said  I,  "  that  there's  something 
humorous  in  the  idea  of  my  wandering  all  over  the 
surface  of  the  planet  in  search  of  a  lost  captain  of 
Chasseurs.  It  is  true  that  we  might  employ  a  private 
detective." 

"  Yes  1  "  she  cried  eagerly.  "  Why  not  ?  Then  you 
could  stay  here — and  I  could  go  on  seeing  you  till  the 
news  came.     Let  us  do  that." 

The  swiftness  of  her  change  of  mood  surprised  me. 

"  What  is  the  particular  object  of  your  going  on 
seeing  me  ?  "  I  asked  with  a  smile. 

She  turned  away  and  shrugged  her  shofulders  and 
took  up  her  pensive  attitude  by  the  fire. 

"  I  have  no  other  friend,"  she  said. 

"  There's  Dale." 

"  He's  not  the  same." 


112  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  There's  Sir  Joshua  Oldfield." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

I  lit  a  cigarette  and  sat  down.  There  was  a  long 
silence.  In  some  unaccountable  way  she  had  me  under 
her  spell  again.  I  felt  a  perfectly  insane  dismay  at  the 
prospect  of  ending  this  queer  intimacy,  and  I  viewed 
her  intrigue  with  Dale  with  profound  distaste.  Lola 
had  become  a  habit.  The  chair  I  was  sitting  in  was 
my  chair.  Adolphus  was  my  dog.  I  hated  the  idea 
of  Dale  making  him  stand  up  and  do  sentry  with  the 
fire-shovel,  while  Lola  sprawled  gracefully  on  the  hearth- 
rug. On  the  other  hand,  the  thought  of  remaining  in 
London  and  sharing  with  my  young  friend  the  privilege 
of  her  society  was  intolerable. 

I  smoked,  and,  watching  her  bosom  rise  and  fall  as 
she  leaned  forward  with  one  arm  on  the  mantelpiece, 
argued  it  out  with  myself,  and  came  to  the  paradoxical 
conclusion  that  I  could  pack  her  off  without  a  pang  to 
Kamchatka  and  the  embraces  of  her  unknown  husband, 
but  could  not  hand  her  over  to  Dale  without  feelings 
of  the  deepest  repugnance.  A  pretty  position  to  find 
myself  in.     I  threw  away  my  cigarette  impatiently. 

Presently  she  said,  not  stirring  from  her  pose  : 

"  I  shall  miss  you  terribly  if  you  go.  A  man  like  you 
doesn't  come  into  the  life  of  a  common  woman  like  me 
without  " — she  hesitated  for  a  word — "  without  making 
some  impression.     I  can't  bear  to  lose  you." 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  give  up  our  pleasant  com- 
radeship," said  I,  "  but  even  if  I  stay  and  send  the 
private  inquiry  agent  instead  of  going  myself,  I  shan't 
be  able  to  go  on  seeing  you  in  this  way." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  scarcely  dignified." 

"  On  account  of  Dale  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  113 

"  Precisely." 

There  was  another  pause,  during  which  I  lit  another 
cigarette.  Wlien  I  looked  up  1  saw  great  tears  rolling 
down  her  checks.  A  weeping  woman  always  makes  me 
nervous.  You  never  know  what  she  is  going  to.  do  next. 
Safety  lies  in  checking  the  tears — in  administering  a 
tonic.  Still,  her  wish  to  retain  me  was  very  touching. 
I  rose  and  stood  before  her  by  the  mantelpiece. 

"  You  can't  have  your  pudding  and  eat  it  too,"  said  I. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  can't  have  Captain  Vauvenarde  for  your 
husband,  Dale  for  your  ccwalicre  servente,  and  myself 
for  your  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  all  at  the  same 
time." 

"  Which  would  you  advise  me  to  give  up  ?  " 

"  That's  obvious.     Give  up  Dale." 

She  uttered  a  sound  midway  between  a  sob  and  a 
laugh,  and  said,  as  it  seemed,  ironically  : 

"  Would  you  take  his  place  ?  " 

Somewhat  ironically,  too,  I  replied,  "  A  crock,  my 
dear  lady,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  has  no  business  to 
put  the  other  into  the  Pays  du  Tendre." 

But  all  the  same  I  had  an  absurd  desire  to  take  her  at 
her  word,  not  for  the  sake  (Heaven  and  Eros  forbid  !) 
of  constituting  myself  her  amant  en  titre,  but  so  as  to 
dispossess  the  poor  boy  who  was  clamouring  wildly  for 
her  among  his  mother's  snufty  colleagues  in  Berlin. 

"  That's  another  reason  why  I  shrink  from  your 
going  in  search  of  my  husband,"  she  said,  dabbing  her 
eyes.     "  Your  ill-health." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  abroad  out  of  this  dreadful  climate 
in  any  case.  Doctor's  orders.  And  I  might  just  as 
well  travel  about  with  an  object  in  view  as  idle  in 
Monte  Carlo  or  Egypt." 

H 


114  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  But  you  might  die  !  "  she  cried  ;  and  her  tone 
touched  my  heart. 

"  I've  got  to,"  I  said,  as  gently  as  I  could  ;  and  the 
moment  the  words  passed  my  lips  I  regretted  them. 

She  turned  a  terrified  look  on  me  and  seized  me  by 
the  arms. 

"  Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?     Why  haven't  you  told  me  ?  " 

I  lifted  my  hands  to  her  shoulders  and  shook  my  head 
and  smiled  into  her  eyes.  They  seemed  true,  honest 
eyes,  with  a  world  of  pain  behind  them.  If  I  had 
not  regarded  myself  as  the  gentleman  in  the  Greek 
Tragedy  walking  straight  to  my  certain  doom,  and 
therefore  holding  myself  aloof  from  such  vain  things,  I 
should  have  yielded  to  the  temptation  and  kissed  her 
there  and  then.  And  then  goodness  knows  what  would 
have  happened. 

As  it  was  it  was  bad  enough.  For,  as  we  stood 
holding  on  to  each  other's  shoulders  in  a  ridiculous 
and  compromising  attitude,  the  door  opened  and 
Dale  Kynnersley  burst,  unannounced,  into  the  room. 
He  paused  on  the  threshold  and  gaped  at  us,  open- 
mouthed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

We  sprang  apart,  for  all  the  world  like  a  guilty  pair 
surprised.  Luckily  the  room  was  in  its  normal  dim 
state  of  illumination,  so  that  to  one  suddenly  entering, 
the  expression  on  our  faces  was  not  clearly  visible ; 
on  the  other  hand,  the  subdued  light  gave  a 
romantic  setting  to  the  abominable  situation. 

Lola  saved  it,  however.     She  rushed  to  Dale. 

"  Do  you  know  what  Mr.  de  Gex  was  just  telling  me  ? 
His  illness — it  is  worse  than  any  one  thought.  It's 
incurable.  He  can't  live  long  ;  he  must  die  soon.  It's 
dreadful — dreadful !     Did  you  know  it  ?  " 

Dale  looked  from  her  to  me,  and  after  a  slight  pause, 
came  forward. 

"  Is  this  true,  Simon  ?  " 

A  plague  of  the  woman  for  catching  me  in  the  trap  I 
Before  Dale  came  in  I  was  on  the  point  of  putting  an 
airy  construction  on  my  indiscreet  speech.  I  had  no 
desire  to  discuss  my  longevity  with  any  one.  I  want  to 
keep  my  miserable  secret  to  myself.  It  was  exasperat- 
ing to  have  to  entrust  it  even  to  Dale.  And  yet,  if  I 
repudiated  her  implied  explanation  of  our  apparent 
embrace  it  would  have  put  her  hopelessly  in  the  wrong. 
I  had  to  support  her. 

"  It's  what  the  doctors  say,"  I  replied,  "  but  whether 
it's  true  or  not  is  another  matter." 

Again  he  looked  queerly  from  me  to  Lola  and  from 
Lola  back  to  me.    His  first  impression  of  our  attitude 

"5 


ii6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

had  been  a  shock  from  which  he  found  it  difficult  to 
recover.  I  smiled,  and,  although  perfectly  innocent, 
felt  a  villain. 

"  Madame  Brandt  is  good  enough  to  be  soft-hearted 
and  to  take  a  tragic  view  of  a  most  commonplace 
contingency." 

"  But  it  isn't  commonplace.  By  God,  it's  horrible  !  " 
cried  the  boy,  the  arrested  love  for  me  suddenly  gushing 
into  his  heart.  "  I  had  no  idea  of  it.  In  Heaven's 
name,  Simon,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  My  dear  old 
Simon." 

Tears  rushed  into  his  eyes  and  he  gripped  my  hand 
until  I  winced.  I  put  my  other  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  laughed  with  a  contorted  visage. 

"  My  good  Dale,  the  moribund  are  fragile." 

"  Oh  Lord,  man,  how  can  you  make  a  jest  of  it  ?  " 

"  Would  you  have  me  drive  about  in  a  hearse,  instead 
of  a  cab,  by  way  of  preparation  ?  " 

"  But  what  have  the  doctors  told  you  ?  "  asked 
Lola. 

"  My  two  dear  people  !  "  I  cried,  "  for  goodness' 
sake  don't  fall  over  me  in  this  way.  I'm  not  going  to 
die  to-morrow  unless  my  cook  poisons  me  or  I'm  struck 
by  lightning.  I'm  going  to  live  for  a  deuce  of  a  time  yet. 
A  couple  of  weeks  at  least.  And  you'll  very  much 
oblige  me  by  not  whispering  a  word  abroad  about  what 
you've  heard  this  afternoon.  It  would  cause  me 
infinite  annoyance.  And  meanwhile  I  suggest  to  you, 
Dale,  as  the  lawyers  say,  that  you  have  been  impolite 
enough  not  to  say  how-do-you-do  to  your  hostess." 

He  turned  to  her  rather  sheepishly,  and  apologised. 
My  news  had  bowled  him  over,  he  declared.  He  shook 
hands  with  her,  laughed  and  walked  Adolphus  about 
on  his  hind  legs. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  117 

"  But  where  have  you  dropped  from  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Berlin.  I  came  straight  through.  Didn't  you  get 
my  wire  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  sent  one." 

"  I  never  got  it." 

He  swung  his  arms  about  in  a  fine  rage. 

"  If  ever  I  get  hold  of  that  son  of  Satan  I'll  murder 
him.  He  was  covered  up  to  his  beastly  eyebrows  in 
silver  lace  and  swords  and  whistles  and  medals  and 
things.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  Friedrichstrasse 
railway  station  as  if  he  owned  the  German  navy  and 
ran  trains  as  a  genteel  hobby.  I  gave  him  ten  marks  to 
send  the  telegram.  The  miserable  beast  has  sneaked 
the  lot.  I'll  get  at  the  railway  company  through  the 
Embassy  and  have  the  brute  sacked  and  put  in  prison. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  skunk  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  thought  you  a  very  simple  and 
charming  young  Englishman,"  said  I. 

"  You've  done  the  same  thing  yourself  !  "  he  retorted 
indignantly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I.  "  If  I  do  send  a  telegram  in 
that  loose  way,  I  choose  a  humble  and  honest-looking 
porter  and  giv  him  the  exact  fee  for  the  telegram  and 
a  winning  smile." 

"  Rot !  "  said  Dale,  and  turning  to  Lola — "  He  has 
demoralised  the  whole  railway  system  of  Europe  with  his 
tips.  I've  seen  him  give  a  franc  to  the  black  greasy 
devil  that  bangs  at  the  carriage  wheels  with  a  bit  of  iron. 
He  would  give  anybody  anything." 

He  had  recovered  his  boyish  pride  in  my  ridiculous 
idiosyncrasies,  and  was  in  process  of  illustrating  again 
to  Lola  what  a  "  splendid  chap  "  I  was.  Poor  lad  !  If 
he  only  knew  what  a  treacherous,  traitorous,  Machiavelli 


ii8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

of  a  hero  he  had  got.     For  the  moment  I  suffered  from 
a  nasty  crick  in  the  conscience. 

"  Wouldn't  he,  Adolphus,  you  celestial  old  black- 
guard ?  "  he  laughed.  Then  suddenly  :  "  My  hat ! 
You  two  are  fond  of  darkness  !  It  gives  me  the  creeps. 
Do  you  mind,  Lola,  if  I  turn  on  the  light  ?  " 

He  marched  in  his  young  way  across  to  the  switches 
and  set  the  room  in  the  blaze  he  loved.  My  crick  of 
the  conscience  was  followed  by  an  impulse  of  resent- 
ment. He  took  it  for  granted  that  his  will  was  law 
in  the  house.  He  swaggered  around  the  room  with  a 
proprietary  air.  He  threw  in  the  casual  "  Lola  "  as  if 
he  owned  her.  Dale  is  the  most  delightful  specimen  of 
the  modern  youth  of  my  acquaintance.  But  even 
Dale,  with  all  his  frank  charm  of  manner,  has  the 
modern  youth's  off-hand  way  with  women.  I  often 
wonder  how  women  abide  it.  But  they  do,  more  shame 
to  them,  and  suffer  more  than  they  realise  by  their 
indulgence.  When  next  I  meet  Maisie  EUerton  I  will 
read  her  a  wholesome  lecture,  for  her  soul's  good,  on 
the  proper  treatment  a  self-respecting  female  should 
apply  to  the  modern  young  man. 

Dale  filled  the  room  with  his  clear  young  laugh,  and 
turned  on  every  light  in  the  place.  Lola  and  I  ex- 
changed glances — she  had  adopted  her  usual  lazy 
pantherine  attitude  in  the  arm-chair — and  her  glance 
was  not  that  of  a  happy  woman  to  whom  a  longed-for 
lover  had  unexpectedly  come.  Its  real  significance  I 
could  not  divine,  but  it  was  more  wistful  than  merely 
that  of  a  fellow-conspirator. 

"  By  George  !  "  cried  Dale,  pulling  up  a  chair  by 
Lola's  side,  and  stretching  out  his  long,  well-trousered 
legs  in  front  of  the  fire.  "  It's  good  to  come  back  to 
civilisation  and  a  Christian  language  and  a  fireside — 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  119 

and  other  things,"  he  added,  squeezing  Lola's  hand. 
"  If  only  it  had  not  been  for  this  horrible' news  about 
you,  dear  old  man " 

"  Oh,  do  forget  it  and  give  me  a  little  peace  !  "  I  cried. 
"  Why  have  you  come  back  all  of  a  sudden  ?  " 

"  The  Wymington  people  wired  for  me.  It  seems 
the  committee  are  divided  between  me  and  Sir  Gerald 
Macnaughton." 

"  He  has  strong  claims,"  said  I.  "He  has  been 
Mayor  of  the  place  and  got  knighted  by  mistake.  He 
also  gives  large  dinners  and  wears  a  beautiful  diamond 
pin." 

"  I  believe  he  goes  to  bed  in  it.  Oh,  he's  an  awful 
ass  !  It  was  he  who  said  at  a  public  function,  '  The 
Mayor  of  Wymington  must  be  like  Caesar's  wife — all 
things  to  all  men  !  '  Oh,  he's  a  colossal  ass  !  And  his 
conceit  !     My   word  !  " 

"  You  needn't  expatiate  on  it,"  said  I.  "  I  who 
speak  have  suffered  much  at  the  hands  of  Sir  Gerald 
Macnaughton." 

"  If  he  did  get  into  Parliament  he'd  expect  an  arm 
chair  to  be  put  for  him  next  the  Speaker.  Really,  Lola, 
you  never  saw  such  a  chap.  If  there  was  any  one  else 
up  against  me  I  wouldn't  mind.  Anyway,  I'm  running 
down  to  Wymington  to-morrow  to  interview  the  com- 
mittee. And  if  they  choose  me,  then  it'll  be  a  case  of 
'  Lord,  don't  help  me  and  don't  help  the  b'ar,  and  you'U 
see  the  derndest  best  b'ar  light  that  ever  was.'  I'll 
make  things  hum  in  Wymington  !  " 

He  went  on  eagerly  to  explain  how  he  would  make 
things  hum.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  his 
enchantress  who,  understanding  nothing  of  platforms 
and  planks  and  electioneering  machinery,  smiled  with 
pensive  politeness  at  the  lire.     Here  was  the  Dale  that 


I20  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  knew  and  loved,  boyish,  impetuous,  slangy,  enthu- 
siastic. His  dark  eyes  flashed,  and  he  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed,  as  he  enunciated  his  brilliant  ideas 
for  capturing  the  constituency. 

"  When  I  was  working  for  you,  I  made  love  to  half 
the  women  in  the  place.  You  never  knew  that,  you 
dear  old  stick.  Now  I'm  going  in  on  my  own  account 
I'll  make  love  to  the  whole  crowd.  You  won't  mind, 
Lola,  will  you  ?  There's  safety  in  numbers.  And 
when  I  have  made  love  to  them  one  by  one  I'll  get  'em 
all  together  and  make  love  to  the  conglomerate  mass  ! 
And  then  I'll  rake  up  all  the  prettiest  women  in  London 
and  get  'em  down  there  to  humbug  the  men " 

"  Lady  Kynnersley  will  doubtless  be  there,"  said  I  ; 
"  and  I  don't  quite  see  her " 

He  broke  in  with  a  laugh  :  "  Oh  !  the  mater  ?  I'll 
fix  up  her  job  all  right.  She'll  just  love  it,  won't  she  ? 
And  then  I  know  a  lot  of  silly  asses  with  motor-cars 
who'll  come  down.  They  can't  talk  for  cob-nuts,  and 
think  Local  Option  has  something  to  do  with  vivisection, 
and  have  a  vague  idea  that  champagne  will  be  cheaper 
if  we  get  Tariff  Reform — but  they'll  make  a  devil  of  a 
noise  at  meetings  and  tote  people  round  the  country  in 
their  cars  holding  banners  with  '  Vote  for  Kynnersley  ' 
on  them.     That's  a  sound  idea,  isn't  it  ?  " 

I  gravely  commended  the  statesman-like  sagacity  of 
his  plan  of  campaign,  and  promised  to  write  as  soon  as 
I  got  home  to  one  or  two  members  of  the  committee 
whom  I  suspected  of  pro-Macnaughton  leanings. 

"  I  do  hope  they'll  adopt  you  !  "  I  cried  fervently. 

"  So  do  I,"  murmured  Lola  in  her  low  notes. 

"  If  I  don't,"  said  Dale,  "  I'll  ask  Raggles  to  give  me 
an  unpaid  billet  somewhere.  But,"  he  added,  with  a 
sigh,  "  that  will  be  an  awful  rotten  game  in  comparison." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  121 

"  I'm  afraid  you  won't  make  Raggles  hum,"  said  I. 

He  laughed,  rose  and  straddled  across  the  hearth-rug, 
his  back  to  the  fire. 

"  He'd  throw  me  out  if  I  tried,  wouldn't  he  ?  But  if 
they  do  adopt  me — I  swear  I'll  make  you  proud  of  me, 
Simon.  I'll  stick  my  soul  into  it.  It's  the  least  I  can 
do  in  this  horrid  cuckoo  sort  of  proceeding,  and  I  feel 
I  shall  be  lighting  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself.  My 
dear  old  chap,  you  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you  ?  " 

I  knew,  and  was  touched.  I  wished  him  God-speed 
with  all  my  heart.  He  was  a  clean,  honest,  generous 
gentleman,  and  I  admired,  loved  and  respected  him  as 
he  stood  there  full  of  his  youth  and  hope.  I  suddenly 
felt  quite  old  and  withered  at  the  root  of  my  being,  like 
some  decrepit  king  who  hands  his  crown  to  the  young 
prince.  I  rose  to  take  my  leave  (for  what  advantage 
was  there  in  staying  ? )  and  felt  that  I  was  abandoning 
to  Dale  other  things  beside  my  crown. 

Lola's  strong,  boneless  hand  closed  round  mine  in  a 
more  enveloping  grip  than  ever.  She  looked  at  me 
appealingly. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  before  you  go  ?  " 

"  Before  you  go  ?  "  cried  Dale.  "  Where  are  you 
off  to  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  south,  out  of  the  fogs." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  At  once,"  said  I. 

He  turned  to  our  hostess.  "  We  can't  let  him  go  like 
that.  I  wonder  if  you  could  fix  up  a  little  dinner  here, 
Lola,  for  the  three  of  us.  It  would  be  ripping,  so  cosy, 
you  know." 

He  glowed  with  the  preposterous  inspiration.  Lola 
began  politely  : 

"  Of  course,  if  Mr.  de  Gex " 


122  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  It  would  be  delightful,"  said  I,  "  but  I'm  starting 
at  once — to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  We  will  have 
the  dinner  when  I  come  back  and  you  are  a  full-blown 
Member  of  Parliament." 

I  made  my  escape  and  fled  to  my  own  cheerful 
library.  It  is  oak-panelled  and  furnished  with  old  oak, 
and  the  mezzotints  on  the  walls  are  mellow.  Of  the 
latter,  I  have  a  good  collection,  among  them  a  Prince 
Rupert  of  which  I  am  proud.  I  threw  myself,  a  tired 
man,  into  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  rang  the  bell  for 
a  brandy  and  soda.  Oh,  the  comfort  of  the  rooms,  the 
comfort  of  Rogers,  the  comfort  of  the  familiar  backs  of 
the  books  in  the  shelves  !  I  felt  loath  to  leave  it  all 
and  go  vagabonding  about  the  cold  world  on  my  lunatic 
adventure.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  cursed 
Marcus  Aurelius.  I  shook  my  fist  at  him  as  he  stood 
on  the  shelf  within  easy  reach  of  my  hand.  It  was  he 
who  had  put  into  my  head  this  confounded  notion  of 
achieving  eumoiriety.  Am  I  dealing  to  myself,  I  asked, 
a  happy  lot  and  portion  ?  Certainly  not,  I  replied,  and 
when  Rogers  brought  me  my  brandy  and  soda  I  drank 
it  off  desperately.  After  that  I  grew  better,  and  drew 
up  a  merry  little  Commination  Service. 

A  plague  on  the  little  pain  inside,  the  fons  et  origo 
malorum. 

A  plague  on  Marcus  Aurelius,  for  reasons  above 
stated. 

A  plague  on  Lady  Kynnersley  for  weeping  me  into 
my  rash  undertaking. 

A  plague  on  Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  for 
aiding  and  abetting  Lady  Kynnersley. 

A  plague  on  Captain  Vauvenarde  for  running  away 
from  his  wife  ;  for  giving  up  the  army  ;  for  not  letting 
me  know  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead;    for  being,  I'll 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  123 

warrant  him,  in  the  most  uncomfortable  and  ungetatable 
spot  on  the  globe. 

A  plague  on  Dale  for  becoming  infatuated  with  Lola 
Brandt.  A  plague  on  him  for  beguiling  me  to  her 
acquaintance ;  for  bursting  into  the  room  at  that 
unfortunate  moment ;  for  his  generous,  unsuspecting 
love  for  me  ;  for  his  youth  and  hope  and  charm  ;  for 
asking  me  to  dine  with  Lola  and  himself  in  ripping 
cosiness. 

A  plague  on  myself — just  to  show  that  I  am  broad- 
minded. 

And  lastly,  a  plague,  a  special  plague,  a  veritable 
murrain  on  Lola  Brandt  for  complicating  the  splendid 
singleness  of  my  purpose.  I  don't  know  what  to  think 
of  myself.  I  have  become  a  common  conundrum — 
which  provides  the  lowest  form  of  intellectual  amuse- 
ment.    It  is  all  her  fault.     Sua  maxima  culpa. 

Listen.  I  set  out  to  free  a  young  man  of  brilliant 
promise,  at  his  mother's  earnest  entreaty,  from  an 
entanglement  with  an  impossible  lady,  and  to  bring 
him  to  the  feet  of  the  most  charming  girl  in  the  world 
who  is  dying  of  love  for  him.  Could  intentions  be 
simpler  or  more  honourable  or  more  praiseworthy  ? 

I  find  myself,  after  two  or  three  weeks,  the  lady's 
warm  personal  friend,  to  a  certain  extent  her  champion 
bound  by  a  quixotic  oath  to  restore  her  husband  to 
her  arms,  and  regarding  my  poor  Dale  with  a  feeling 
which  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  green-eyed  jealousy. 
I  am  praying  heaven  to  grant  his  adoption  by  the 
Wymington  committee,  not  because  it  will  be  the  first 
step  of  the  ladder  of  his  career,  but  because  the  work 
and  excitement  of  a  Parliamentary  election  will  pro- 
hibit overmuch  lounging  in  my  chair  in  Lola  Brandt's 
drawing-room. 


124  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Is  there  any  drug,  I  wonder,  which  can  restore  a 
eumoirous  tone  to  the  system  ? 

Of  course,  Dale  came  round  to  my  chambers  in  the 
evening  and  talked  about  Lola  and  himself  and  me 
until  I  sent  him  home  to  bed.  He  kept  on  repeating  at 
intervals  that  I  was  glorious.  I  grew  tired  at  last  of  the 
eulogy,  and,  adopting  his  vernacular,  declared  that  I 
should  be  jolly  glad  to  get  out  of  this  rubbishy  world. 
He  protested.  There  never  was  such  a  world.  It  was 
gorgeous.  What  was  wrong  with  it,  an^^way  ?  he  asked. 
As  I  could  not  show  him  the  Commination  Service,  I 
picked  imaginary  flaws  in  the  universe.  I  complained 
of  its  amateurishness  of  design.  But  Dale,  who  loves 
fact,  was  not  to  be  drawn  into  a  theological  disputation. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  had  a  deuce  of  a  shock  when  I  came 
into  Lola's  this  afternoon  ?  "  he  cried  irrelevantly,  with 
a  loud  laugh.  "  I  thought — it  was  a  damnable  and 
idiotic  thing  to  come  into  my  head — but  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  you  had  cut  me  out  !  I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  You  must  forgive  me  for  being  such  an  ass. 
And  I  want  to  thank  you  for  being  so  good  to  her 
while  I  was  away.  She  has  been  telling  me.  You  like 
her,  don't  you  ?  I  knew  you  would.  No  one  can  help 
it.  Besides  being  other  things,  she  is  such  a  good  sort, 
isn't  she  ?  " 

I  admitted  her  many  excellences,  while  he  walked 
about  the  room. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  cried,  coming  to  a  halt.  "  I've  got 
a  grand  idea.  My  little  plan  has  succeeded  so  well 
with  you  that  I've  a  good  mind  to  try  it  on  my  mother." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  and 
bring  my  mother  and  Lola  together  ?  " 

I  gasped.     "  My  dear  boy,"  said  I.     "Do  you  want 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  125 

to  kill  me  outright  ?  I  can't  stand  such  shocks  to  the 
imagination." 

"  But  it  would  be  grand  !  "  he  exclaimed,  delighted. 
"  Why  shouldn't  mother  take  a  fancy  to  Lola  ?  You 
can  imagine  her  roping  her  in  for  the  committee  !  " 

I  refused  to  imagine  it  for  one  instant,  and  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  the  world  to  persuade  him  to 
renounce  his  maniacal  project.  I  am  going  to  permit 
no  further  complications. 

I  have  been  busy  for  the  past  day  or  two  setting  my 
house  in  order.  I  start  to-morrow  for  Paris.  AD,  my 
little  affairs  are  comfortably  settled,  and  I  can  set  out 
on  my  little  trip  to  Avemus  via  Paris  and  the  habitat 
of  Captain  Vauvenarde  with  a  quiet  conscience.  I 
have  allayed  the  anxiety  of  my  sisters,  whispered 
mysterious  encouragement  to  Maisie  Ellerton,  held  out 
hopes  of  her  son's  emancipation  to  Lady  Kynnersley, 
played  fairy  godmother  to  various  poor  and  deserving 
persons,  and  brought  myself  into  an  enviable  condition 
of  glowing  philanthropy. 

To  my  great  relief  the  Wymington  committee  have 
adopted  Dale  as  their  candidate  at  the  by-election. 
He  can  scarcely  contain  himself  for  joy.  He  is  like  a 
child  who  has  been  told  that  he  shall  be  taken  to  the 
seaside.  I  believe  he  lies  awake  all  night  thinking  how 
he  will  make  things  hum. 

The  other  side  have  chosen  Wilberforce,  who  un- 
successfully contested  the  Ferney  division  of  Wiltshire 
at  the  last  General  Election.  He  is  old  and  ugly.  Dale 
is  young  and  beautiful.     I  think  Dale  will  get  in. 

I  have  said  good-bye  to  Lola.  The  astonishing 
woman  burst  into  tears  and  kissed  my  hands  and  said 
something  about  my  being  the  arbiter  of  her  destiny — 


126  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

a  Gallic  phrase  which  she  must  have  picked  up  from 
Captain  Vauvenarde.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in  the 
bristling  neck  of  Adolphus,  the  Chow  dog,  and  declared 
him  to  be  her  last  remaining  consolation.  Even  Anas- 
tasius  Papadopoulos  had  ceased  to  visit  her.  I  uttered 
words  of  comfort. 

"  I  have  left  you  Dale,  at  any  rate,"  said  I. 

She  smiled  enigmatically  through  her  tears. 

"  I'm  not  ungrateful.     I  don't  despise  the  crumbs." 

Which  remark,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  was 
not  flattering  to  my  young  friend. 

But  what  is  the  use  of  thinking  of  it  ?  My  fire  is 
burning  low.  It  is  time  I  ended  this  portion  of  my 
"  Rule  and  Example  of  Eumoiriety,"  which,  I  fear,  has 
not  followed  the  philosophic  line  I  originally  intended. 

The  die  is  cast.  My  things  are  packed.  Rogers, 
who  likes  his  British  beer  and  beef,  is  resigned  to  the 
prospect  of  continental  travel,  and  has  gone  to  bed 
hours  ago.  There  is  no  more  soda-water  in  the  syphon. 
I  must  go  to  bed. 

Paris  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  X 

"  Ay  !  "  says  Touchstone  ;   "  now  am  I  in  Arden  ;    the 
more  fool  I ;  when  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a  better  place." 

Now  am  I  in  Algiers  ;    the  more  fool  I  ;    et  cetera, 
et  cetera. 

It  is  true  that  from  my  bedroom  window  in  the 
Albany  I  cannot  see  the  moon  silvering  the  Mediterra- 
nean, or  hear  the  soft  swish  of  pepper-trees  ;  it  is  true 
that  oranges  and  eucalyptus  do  not  flourish  in  the 
Albany  courtyard  as  they  do  in  this  hotel  garden  at 
Mustapha  Superieur  ;  it  is  true  that  the  blue  African 
sky  and  sunshine  are  more  agreeable  than  Piccadilly 
fogs ;  but,  after  all,  his  own  kennel  is  best  for  a  dymg 
dog,  and  his  own  familiar  surroundings  best  for  his 
declining  hours.  Again,  Touchstone  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  what  he  was  going  to  do  in  the  Forest  of 
Arden,  and  I  was  equally  ignorant  of  what  would  befall 
when  I  landed  at  Algiers.  He  was  bound  on  a  fool 
adventure,  and  so  was  I.  He  preferred  the  easy  way 
of  home,  and  so  do  I.  I  have  always  loved  Touchstone, 
but  I  have  never  thoroughly  understood  him  till 
now. 

It  rained  persistently  in  Paris.     It  rained  as  I  drove 

from  the  Gare  du  Nord  to  my  hotel.     It  rained  all  night. 

It  rained  all  the  day  I  spent  there  and  it  rained  as  I 

drove  from  my  hotel  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon.     A  cheery 

newspaper  informed  me  that  there  were  torrential  rains 

at  Marseilles.     I  mentioned  this  to  Rogers,  who  tried  to 

IB7 


128  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

console  me  by  r^ninding  me  that  we  were  only  staying 
at  Marseilles  for  a  few  hours, 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  I.  "  At 
Marseilles  I  always  eat  bouillabaisse  on  the  quay. 
Fancy  eating  bouillabaisse  in  the  pouring  rain  !  " 

As  usual,  Rogers  could  not  execute  the  imaginative 
exercise  I  prescribed  ;  so  he  strapped  my  hold-all  with 
an  extra  jerk. 

Now,  when  homespun  London  is  wet  and  muddy,  no 
one  minds  very  much.  But  when  silken  Paris  lies 
bedraggled  with  rain  and  mud,  she  is  the  forlomest 
thing  under  the  sky.  She  is  a  hollow-eyed  pale  city, 
the  rouge  is  washed  from  her  cheeks,  her  hair  hangs 
dank  and  dishevelled,  in  her  aspect  is  desolation,  and 
moaning  is  in  her  voice.  I  have  a  Sultanesque  feeling 
with  regard  to  Paris.  So  long  as  she  is  amusing  and  gay 
I  love  her.  I  adore  her  mirth,  her  chatter,  her  charming 
ways.  But  when  she  has  the  toothache  and  snivels, 
she  bores  me  to  death.  I  lose  all  interest  in  her.  I  want  to 
clap  my  hands  for  my  slaves,  in  order  to  bid  them  bring 
me  in  something  less  dismal  in  the  way  of  fair  cities. 

I  drove  to  the  Rue  Saint-Dominique  and  handed  in 
my  card  and  letter  of  introduction  at  the  Ministere  de 
la  Guerre.  I  was  received  by  the  official  in  charge  of 
the  Bureau  des  Renseigncmcnts  with  bland  polite- 
ness tempered  with  suspicion  that  I  might  be  taking  a 
mental  photograph  of  the  office  furniture  in  order  to 
betray  its  secret  to  a  foreign  Government.  After  many 
comings  and  goings  of  orderlies  and  underlings,  he  told 
me  very  little  in  complicated  and  reluctant  language. 
Captain  Vauvenarde  had  resigned  his  commission  in  the 
Chasseurs  d'Afrique  two  years  ago.  At  the  present 
moment  the  Bureau  had  no  information  to  give  as  to 
his  domicile. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  129 

"  Have  you  no  suggestion,  Monsieur,  to  ofier  ?  "  I 
asked,  "  whereby  I  may  obtain  this  essential  informa- 
tion concerning  Captain  Vauvenarde  ?  " 

"  His  old  comrades  in  the  regiment  might  know. 
Monsieur." 

"  And  the  regiment  ?  " 

He  opened  the  Annuairc  Officiel  dc  I'Armee  Fran^aise, 
just  as  I  might  have  done  myself,  and  said  : 

"  There  are  six  regiments.  One  is  at  Blidah,  another 
at  Tlemcen,  another  at  Constantine,  another  at  Tunis, 
another  at  Algiers,  and  another  at  Mascara." 

"  To  which  regiment,  then,  did  Captain  Vauvenarde 
belong  ?  "  I  inquired. 

He  referred  to  one  of  the  dossiers  that  the  orderlies 
had  brought  him. 

"  The  3rd,  Monsieur." 

"  I  should  get  information,  then,  from  Tlemcen  ?  " 

"  Evidently,  Monsieur." 

I  thanked  him  and  withdrew,  to  his  obvious  relief. 
Seekers  after  knowledge  are  unpopular  even  in  organisa- 
tions so  far  removed  from  the  Circumlocution  Office 
as  the  French  Ministere  de  la  Guerre.  However,  he 
had  put  me  on  the  trail  of  my  man. 

During  my  homeward  drive  through  the  rain  I 
reflected.  I  might,  of  course,  write  to  the  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  of  the  3rd  Regiment  at  Tlemcen,  and  wait 
for  his  reply.  But  even  if  he  answered  by  return  of 
post,  I  should  have  to  remain  in  Paris  for  nearly  a 
week. 

"  That,"  said  I,  wiping  from  my  face  half  a  teacupful 
of  liquid  mud  which  had  squirted  in  through  the  cab 
window — "  that  I'll  never  do.  I'll  proceed  at  once  to 
Algiers.  If  I  can  get  no  news  of  him  there,  I'll  go  to 
Tlemcen  myself.     In  all  probability  I  shall  learn  that 


I30  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

he  is  residing  here  in  Paris,  a  stone's-throw  from  the 
Madeleine." 

So  I  started  in  the  evening  for  Algiers.  The  next 
morning,  before  the  sailing  of  the  Marechal  Bugcaiid, 
one  of  the  quaint  churns  styled  a  steamship  by  the 
vanity  of  the  French  Company  which  undertakes  to 
convey  respectable  folk  across  the  Mediterranean,  I  ate 
my  bouillabaisse  below  an  awning  on  the  sunny  quay 
at  Marseilles.  The  torrential  rains  had  ceased.  I 
advised  Rogers  to  take  equivalent  sustenance,  as  no 
lunch  is  provided  on  the  day  of  sailing  by  the  Compagnie 
Generale  Transatlantique.  I  caught  sight  of  him  in  a 
dark  corner  of  the  restaurant — he  was  too  British  to 
eat  in  the  open  air  on  the  terrace,  or  perhaps  too  modest 
to  have  his  meal  in  my  presence — struggling  grimly 
with  a  beefsteak,  and,  as  he  is  a  teetotaller,  with  an 
unimaginable,  horrific  liquid  which  he  poured  out 
from  a  vessel  vaguely  resembling  a  tea-pot. 

My  meal  over,  and  having  nearly  an  hour  to  spare,  I 
paid  my  bill,  rose,  and  turned  the  corner  of  the  quay 
into  the  Cannebiere,  thinking  to  have  my  coffee  at  one 
of  the  cafes  in  that  thoroughfare  of  which  the  natives 
say  that,  if  Paris  had  a  Cannebiere,  it  would  be  a  little 
Marseilles.  I  suppose  for  the  Marseillais  there  is  a 
magic  in  the  sonorous  name ;  for,  after  all,  it  is  but  a 
commonplace  street  of  shops  running  from  the  quays 
into  the  heart  of  the  town.  It  is  also  deformed  by 
tramcars.  I  strolled  leisurely  up,  thinking  of  the  many 
swans  that  were  geese,  and  Paradises  that  were  building- 
plots,  and  heroes  that  were  dummies,  and  solidities 
that  were  shadows,  in  short,  enjoying  a  gentle  post- 
prandial mood,  when  my  eyes  suddenly  fell  on  a  scene 
which  brought  me  down  from  such  realities  to  the 
realm  of  the  fantastic.    There,  a  few  yards  in  front  of 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  131 

me,  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  terrace  of  a  cafe,  clad  in 
his  eternal  silk  hat,  frock-coat,  and  yellow  gloves,  sat 
Professor  Aiiastasins  Papadopoulos  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  a  seedy  stranger  of  repellent  mien.  The 
latter  was  clean-shaven  and  had  a  broken  nose,  and 
wore  a  little  round,  soft  felt  hat.  The  dwarf  was  facing 
me.  As  he  caught  sight  of  me  a  smile  of  welcome 
overspread  his  Napoleonic  features.  He  rose,  awaited 
my  approach,  and  bareheaded,  made  his  usual  sweeping 
bow  which  he  concluded  by  resting  his  silk  hat  on  the 
pit  of  his  stomach.  I  lifted  my  hat  politely  and  would 
have  passed  on,  but  he  stood  in  my  path.  I  extended 
my  hand.  He  shook  it  after  the  manner  of  a  provincial 
mayor  receiving  royalty. 

"  Couvrez-vous,  Monsieur,  je  vous  en  prie,"  said  I. 

He  covered  his  head.  "  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  I 
beseech  you  to  be  seated,  and  do  me  the  honour  of 
joining  me  in  the  coffee  and  excellent  cognac  of  this 
establishment." 

"  Willingly,"  said  I,  mindful  of  Lola's  tale  of  the 
long  knife  which  he  carried  concealed  about  his 
person. 

"  Permit  me  to  present  my  friend  Monsieur  Achille 
Saupiquet — Monsieur  de  Gex,  a  great  English  statesman 
and  a  friend  of  that  gnddigsten  Engel,  Madame  Lola 
Brandt." 

Monsieur  Saupiquet  and  I  saluted  each  other  formally. 
I  took  a  seat.  Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos 
moved  a  bundle  of  papers,  tied  up  with  pink  ribbon, 
from  in  front  of  me,  and  ordered  coffee  and  cognac. 

"  Monsieur  Saupiquet  also  knows  Madame  Brandt," 
he  explained. 

"Bien  siir,"  said  Monsieur  Saupiquet.  "  She  owes  me 
fifteen  sous." 


132  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Papadopoulos  turned  on  him  sharply.  "  Will  you  be 
silent  !  " 

The  other  grumbled  beneath  his  breath. 

"  I  hope  Madame  is  well,"  said  Papadopoulos. 

I  said  that  she  appeared  so,  when  last  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her.     The  dwarf  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  Monsieur  has  also  done  my  cats  the  honour  of 
attending  a  rehearsal.  He  has  seen  Hephsestus,  and 
his  tears  have  dropped  in  sympathy  over  the  irreparable 
loss  of  my  beautiful  Santa  Bianca." 

"  I  hope  the  talented  survivors,"  said  I,  "  are  enjoy- 
ing their  usual  health." 

"  My  daily  bulletin  from  my  pupil  and  assistant, 
Quast,  contains  excellent  reports.     Prosit,  Signori." 

It  was  only  wh(m  I  found  myself  at  the  table  with 
the  dwarf  and  his  broken-nosed  friend  that  I  collected 
my  wits  sufficiently  to  realise  the  probable  reason  of  his 
presence  in  Marseilles.  The  grotesque  little  creature 
had  actually  kept  his  ridiculous  word.  He,  too,  had 
come  south  in  search  of  the  lost  Captain  Vauvenarde. 
We  were  companions  in  the  Fool  Adventure.  There 
was  something  mediaeval  in  the  combination  ;  some- 
thing legendary.  Put  back  the  clock  a  few  centuries 
and  there  we  were,  the  Knight  and  the  Dwarf,  riding 
together  on  our  quest,  while  the  Lady  for  whose  sake 
we  were  making  idiots  of  ourselves  was  twiddling  her 
fair  thumbs  in  her  tower  far  beyond  the  seas. 

Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  broke  upon  this 
pleasing  fancy  by  remarking  again  that  Monsieur  Sau- 
piquet  was  a  friend  of  Madame  Brandt. 

"  He  was  with  her  at  the  time  of  her  great  bereave- 
ment." 

"  Bereavement  ?  "  I  asked  forgetfully. 

"  Her  horse  Sultan." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  133 

He  whispered  the  words  with  solemn  reverence.  I 
must  confess  to  being  tired  of  the  horse  Sultan  and 
disinclined  to  treat  his  loss  seriously. 

"  Monsieur  Saupiquet,"  said  I,  "  doubtless  offered 
her  every  consolation." 

"  J  a  wohl !  "  cried  the  Professor.  "  He  used  to  travel 
with  her  and  look  after  Sultan's  physical  well-being. 
He  was  her " 

"  Her  Master  of  the  Horse,"  I  suggested. 

"  Precisely.  You  have  the  power  of  using  the  right 
word,  Monsieur  de  Gex.  It  is  a  great  gift.  My  good 
friend  Saupiquet  is  attached  to  a  circus  at  present 
stationed  in  Toulon.  He  came  over,  at  my  request,  to 
see  me — on  affairs  of  the  deepest  importance  " — he 
waved  the  bundle  of  papers — "  the  very  deepest  im- 
portance.    Nicht  wahr,  Saupiquet  ?  " 

"  Bien  stir,"  murmured  Saupiquet,  who  evidently  did 
not  count  loquacity  among  his  vices. 

I  wondered  whether  these  important  affairs  con- 
cerned the  whereabouts  of  Captain  Vauvenarde  ;  but 
the  dwarf's  air  of  mystery  forbade  my  asking  for  his 
confidence.  Besides,  what  should  a  groom  in  a  circus 
know  of  retired  Captains  of  Chasseurs  ?     I  said  : 

"  You're  a  very  busy  man.  Monsieur  le  Professeur." 

He  tapped  his  dome-like  forehead.  "I  am  never 
idle.  I  carry  on  here  gigantic  combinations.  I  should 
have  been  a  lawyer.  I  can  spread  nets,  per  Bacco  ! 
that  no  one  sees,  and  then — pst !  I  draw  the  rope  and 
the  victim  is  in  the  toils  of  Anastasius  Papadopoulos. 
Hast  du  nicht  das  bemerkt,  Saupiquet  ?  " 

"  Bien  sur,"  said  Saupiquet  again.  He  seemed  per- 
fectly conversant  with  the  dwarf's  polyglot  jargon. 

"  To  the  temperament  of  the  artist,"  continued  the 
modest  Papadopoulos,  "  I  join  the  intellect  of  the  man 


134  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

of  affairs  and  the  heart  of  a  young  poet.  I  am  always 
young  ;  yet  as  you  see  me  here  I  am  thirty-seven  years 
of  age." 

He  jumped  from  his  chair  and  struck  an  attitude  of 
the  Apollo  Belvedere. 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  that  you  were  of  the 
same  age  as  a  battered  person  like  myself,"  said  I. 

"  The  secret  of  youth,"  he  rejoined,  sitting  down 
again,  "  is  enthusiasm,  the  worship  of  a  woman,  and 
intimate  association  with  cats." 

Monsieur  Saupiquet  received  this  proposition  with- 
out a  gleam  of  interest  manifesting  itself  in  his  dull  blue 
eyes.  His  broken  nose  gave  his  face  a  singularly  unin- 
telligent expression.  He  poured  out  another  glass  of 
cognac  from  the  graduated  carafe  in  front  of  him  and 
sipped  it  slowly.  Then  he  gazed  at  me  dully,  almost 
for  the  first  time,  and  said  : 

"  Madame  Brandt  owes  me  fifteen  sous." 

"  And  I  say  that  she  doesn't !  "  cried  the  dwarf 
fiercely.  "  I  send  for  him  to  discuss  matters  of  the 
deepest  gravity,  and  he  comes  talking  about  his  fifteen 
sous.  I  can't  get  anything  out  of  him,  but  his  fifteen 
sous.  And  the  carissima  signora  doesn't  owe  it  to  him. 
She  can't  owe  it  to  him.  Voyons,  Saupiquet,  if  you 
don't  renounce  your  miserable  pretensions  you  will 
drive  me  mad,  you  will  make  me  burst  into  tears,  you 
will  make  me  throw  you  out  into  the  street,  and  hold 
you  down  until  you  are  run  over  by  a  tramcar.  You 
will — you  will  " — he  shook  his  fist  passionately  as  he 
sought  for  a  climatic  menace — "  you  will  make  me  spit 
in  your  eye." 

He  dashed  his  fist  down  on  the  marble  table  so  that 
the  glasses  jingled.  Saupiquet  finished  his  cognac  un- 
disturbed. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  135 

"  I  say  that  Madame  Brandt  owes  me  fifteen  sous, 
and  until  that  is  paid,  I  do  no  business." 

The  little  man  grew  white  with  exasperation,  and  his 
upper  lip  lifted  like  an  angry  cat's,  showing  his  teeth. 
I  shrank  from  meeting  Saupiquet's  eye.  Hurriedly, 
I  drew  a  providential  handful  of  coppers  from  my 
pocket. 

"  Stop,  Herr  Professor,"  said  I,  eager  to  prevent 
the  shedding  of  tears,  blood,  or  saliva,  "  I  have  just 
remembered.  Madame  did  mention  to  me  an  unac- 
quitted  debt  in  the  South,  and  begged  me  to  settle  it  for 
her.  I  am  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity.  Will 
you  permit  me  to  act  as  Madame's  banker  ?  " 

The  dwarf  at  once  grew  suave  and  courteous. 

"  The  word  of  the  carissima  signora  is  the  word  of 
God,"  said  he. 

I  solemnly  counted  out  the  fifteen  halfpence  on  the 
table  and  pushed  them  over  to  Saupiquet,  who  swept 
them  up  and  put  them  in  his  pocket. 

"  Now  we  can  talk,"  said  he. 

"  Make  him  give  you  a  receipt !  "  cried  Papado- 
poulos  excitedly.  "  I  know  him  !  He  is  capable  of  any 
treachery  where  money  is  concerned.  He  is  capable  of 
re-demanding  the  sum  from  Madame  Brandt.  He  is  an 
ingrate.  And  she,  Monsieur  le  Membre  du  Parlement 
Anglais,  has  overwhelmed  him  with  benefits.  Do  you 
know  what  she  did  ?  She  gave  him  the  carcass  of  her 
beloved  Sultan  to  dispose  of.  And  he  sold  it,  Monsieur, 
and  he  got  drunk  on  the  money." 

The  mingled  emotions  of  sorrow  at  the  demise  of 
Sultan,  the  royal  generosity  of  Madame  Brandt,  and  the 
turpitude  of  his  friend  Saupiquet,  brought  tears  to  the 
little  man's  eyes.  Monsieur  Saupiquet  shrugged  his 
shoulders  unconcernedly. 


136  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  A  poor  man  has  to  get  drunk  when  he  can.  It  is 
only  the  rich  who  can  get  drunk  when  they  hke." 

I  looked  at  my  watch  and  rose  in  a  hurry. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  take  an  unceremonious  leave  of 
you,  Monsieur  le  Professeur." 

"  You  must  wait  for  the  receipt,"  cried  the  dwarf. 

"  Wni  you  do  me  the  honour  of  holding  it  for  me 
until  we  meet  again  ?  Hi !  "  The  interpellation  was 
addressed  to  a  cabman  a  few  yards  away.  "  Your  con- 
versation has  made  me  neglect  the  flight  of  time.  I 
shall  only  just  catch  my  boat." 

"  Your  boat  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Algiers." 

"  Where  will  you  be  staying.  Monsieur  ?  I  ask  in  no 
spirit  of  vulgar  curiosity." 

I  raised  a  protesting  hand,  and  with  a  smUe  named 
my  hotel. 

"  I  arrived  here  from  Algiers  yesterday  afternoon," 
he  said,  "  and  I  proceed  there  again  to-morrow." 

"  I  regret,"  said  I,  "  that  you  are  not  coming  to-day, 
so  that  I  could  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company  on 
the  voyage." 

My  polite  formula  seemed  to  delight  Professor  Anas- 
tasius  Papadopoulos  enormously.  He  made  a  series 
of  the  most  complicated  bows,  to  the  joy  of  the  waiters 
and  the  passers-by.  I  shook  hands  with  him  and  with 
the  stolid  Monsieur  Saupiquet,  and  waving  my  hat 
more  like  an  excited  Montenegrin  than  the  most  respect- 
able of  British  valitudinarians,  I  drove  off  to  the  Quai 
de  la  Joliette,  where  I  found  an  anxious  but  dogged 
Rogers,  in  the  midst  of  a  vociferating  crowd,  literally 
holding  the  bridge  that  gave  access  to  the  Marechal 
Bugeaud. 

"  Thank   Heaven,   you've  come,   sir  !     You  almost 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  137 

missed  it.  I  couldn't  have  held  out  another 
minute." 

I,  too,  was  thankful.  If  I  had  missed  the  boat  I 
should  have  had  to  wait  till  the  next  day  and  crossed  in 
the  embarrassing  and  unrestful  company  of  Professor 
Anastasius  Papadopoulos.  It  is  not  that  I  dislike  the 
little  man,  or  have  the  Briton's  nervous  shrinking  from 
being  seen  in  eccentric  society  ;  but  I  wish  to  eliminate 
medi?evalism  as  far  as  possible  from  m}'  quest.  It  is 
lunatic  enough  already,  Heaven  knows.  In  conjunc- 
tion with  this  crazy-headed  little  trainer  of  cats  it 
would  become  too  preposterous  even  for  my  light  sar- 
donic humour.  I  resolved  to  dismiss  him  from  my 
mind  altogether. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  my  determination,  and  in  spite  of  one 
of  Monsieur  Lenotre's  fascinating  monographs  on  the 
French  Revolution,  on  which  I  had  counted  to  beguile 
the  tedium  of  the  journey,  I  could  not  get  Anastasius 
Papadopoulos  out  of  my  head.  He  stayed  with  me  the 
whole  of  a  storm-tossed  night,  and  all  the  next  morning. 
He  has  haunted  my  brain  ever  since.  I  see  him  tossing 
his  arms  about  in  fury,  while  the  broken-nosed  Sau- 
piquet  makes  his  monotonous  claim  for  the  payment 
of  sevenpence  halfpenny  ;  I  hear  him  speak  in  broken 
whispers  of  the  disastrous  quadruped  on  whose  skin  and 
hoofs  Saupiquet  got  drunk.  I  see  him  strutting  about 
and  boasting  of  his  intellect.  I  see  him  taking  leave 
of  Lola  Brandt,  and  trotting  magnificently  out  of  the 
room  bent  on  finding  Captain  Vauvenarde.  He  haunts 
my  slumbers.  I  hope  to  goodness  he  will  not  take  to 
haunting  this  delectable  hotel. 

I  wonder,  after  all,  whether  there  is  any  method  in 
his  madness — for  mad  he  is,  as  mad  as  caji  be.  Why 
does  he  come  backwards  and  forwards  between  Algiers 


138  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

and  Marseilles  ?  What  has  Saupiquet  to  do  with  his 
quest  ?  What  revelation  was  he  about  to  make  on  the 
payment  of  his  fifteen  sous  ?  It  is  all  so  grotesque,  so 
out  of  relation  with  ordinary  life.  I  feel  inclined  to  go 
up  to  the  retired  Colonels  and  elderly  maiden  ladies, 
who  seem  to  form  the  majority  of  my  fellow-guests, 
and  pinch  them  and  ask  them  whether  they  are  real,  or, 
like  Papadopoulos  and  Saupiquet,  the  gentler  creatures 
of  a  nightmare. 

Well,  I  have  written  to  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the 
3rd  Regiment  of  Chasseurs  at  Tlemcen,  which  is  away 
down  by  the  Morocco  frontier.  I  have  also  written  to 
Lola  Brandt.  I  seem  to  miss  her  as  much  as  any  of  the 
friends  I  have  left  behind  me  in  England.  I  cannot  help 
the  absurd  fancy  that  her  rich  vitality  helps  me  along. 
I  have  not  been  feeling  quite  so  robust  as  I  did  when 
I  saw  her  daily.  And  twinges  are  coming  more  fre- 
quently. Aie  !  I  don't  think  that  rolling  about  in  the 
Mediterranean  on  board  the  Marechal  Bugeaud  is  good 
for  little  pains  inside. 


CHAPTER  XI 

When  I  began  this  autobiographical  sketch  of  the  last 
few  weeks  of  my  existence,  I  had  conceived,  as  I  have 
already  said,  the  notion  of  making  it  chiefly  a  guide  to 
conduct  for  my  young  disciple,  Dale  Kynnersley.  Not 
only  was  it  to  explain  to  him  clearly  the  motives  which 
led  to  my  taking  any  particular  line  of  action  with  re- 
gard to  his  affairs,  and  so  enable  me  to  escape  whatever 
blame  he  might,  through  misunderstanding,  be  disposed 
to  cast  on  me,  but  also  to  elevate  his  mind,  stimulate 
his  ambitions,  and  improve  his  morals.  It  was  to  be  a 
Manual  of  Eumoiriety.  It  was  to  be  sweetened  with 
philosophic  reflections  and  adorned  with  allusions  to  the 
lives  of  the  great  masters  of  their  destiny  who  have 
passed  away.  It  was  to  have  been  a  pretty  little  work 
after  the  manner  of  Montaigne,  with  the  exception  that 
it  ran  of  its  own  accord  into  narrative  form.  But  I  am 
afraid  Lola  Brandt  has  interposed  herself  between  me 
and  my  design.  She  has  brought  me  down  from  the 
serene  philosophic  plane  where  I  could  think  and  observe 
human  happenings  and  analyse  them  and  present  them 
in  their  true  aspect  to  my  young  friend.  She  has  set  me 
down  in  the  thick  of  events — and  not  events  such  as  the 
smiling  philosopher  is  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with,  but 
lunatic,  fantastic  occurrences  with  which  no  system  of 
philosophy  invented  by  man  is  capable  of  grappling.  I 
can  just  keep  my  head,  that  is  all,  and  note  down  what 
happens  more  or  less  day  by  day,  so  that  when  the  doings 

139 


I40  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

of  dwarfs  and  captains,  and  horse-tamers  and  youthful 
Members  of  Parliament  concern  me  no  more,  Dale 
Kynnersley  can  have  a  bald,  but  veracious  statement  of 
fact.  And  as  I  have  before  mentioned,  he  loves  facts, 
just  as  a  bear  loves  honey. 

I  passed  a  quiet  day  or  two  in  my  hotel  garden, among 
the  sweet-peas,  and  the  roses,  and  the  geraniums. 
There  were  little  shady  summer-houses  where  one  could 
sit  and  dream,  and  watch  the  blue  sky  and  the  palms 
and  the  feathery  pepper-trees  drooping  with  their  coral 
berries,  and  the  golden  orange-trees  and  the  wisteria  and 
the  great  gorgeous  splash  of  purple  bourgainvillea  above 
the  Moorish  arches  of  the  hotel.  There  were  mild  little 
walks  in  the  eucalyptus  woods  behind,  where  one 
went  through  acanthus  and  wild  absinthe,  and  here 
and  there  as  the  path  wound,  the  great  blue  bay  came 
into  view,  and  far  away  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the 
Atlas.  There  were  warmth  and  sunshine  and  the  unex- 
citing prattle  of  the  retired  Colonels  and  maiden  ladies. 
There  was  an  hotel  library  filled  with  archaic  fiction.  I 
took  out  Ainsworth's  "  Tower  of  London,"  and  passed  a 
happy  morning  in  the  sun  renewing  the  thrills  of  my  child- 
hood. I  began  to  forget  the  outer  world  in  my  enchanted 
garden,  like  a  knight  in  the  Forest  of  Broceliande. 

Then  came  the  letter  from  Tlemcen.  The  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  commanding  the  3rd  Regiment  of  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique  had  received  my  honoured  communication 
but  regretted  to  say  that  he,  together  with  all  the  officers 
of  the  regiment,  had  severed  their  connection  with  Cap- 
tain Vauvenarde,  and  that  they  were  ignorant  of  his 
present  address. 

This  was  absurd.  A  man  does  not  resign  from  his 
regiment  and  within  a  year  or  two  disappear  like  a  ghost 
from  the  ken  of  every  one  of  his  brother  officers.     I  read 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  141 

the  letter  again.  Did  the  severance  of  connection  mean 
the  casting  out  of  a  black  sheep  from  their  midst  ?  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  did.  They  had  washed 
their  hands  of  Captain  Vauvenarde,  and  desired  to  hear 
nothing  of  him  in  the  future. 

So  I  awoke  from  my  lethargy,  and  springing  up  sent, 
not  for  my  shield  and  spear,  but  for  an  "  Indicateur  des 
Chemins  de  Fer . ' '  I  would  go  to  Tlemcen  and  get  to  the 
bottom  of  it.  I  searched  the  time-table  and  found  two 
trains,  one  starting  from  Algiers  at  nine-forty  at  night 
and  getting  into  Tlemcen  at  noon  next  day,  and  one 
leaving  at  six-fifty  in  the  morning  and  arriving  at  half- 
past  ten  at  night.  I  groaned  aloud.  The  dealing  unto 
oneself  a  happy  life  and  portion  did  not  include  abomin- 
able train  journeys  like  these.  I  was  trying  to  decide 
whether  I  should  travel  all  night  or  all  day  when  the 
Arab  chasseur  of  the  hotel  brought  me  a  telegram.  I 
opened  it.     It  ran  : 

"  Starting  for  Algiers.     Meet  me. — Lola." 

It  was  despatched  that  morning  from  Victoria  Station. 
I  gazed  at  it  stupidly.  Why  in  the  world  was  Lola 
Brandt  coming  to  join  me  in  Algiers  ?  If  she  had  wanted 
to  do  her  husband  hunting  on  her  own  account,  why 
had  she  put  me  to  the  inconvenience  of  my  journey  ? 
Her  action  could  not  have  been  determined  by  my  letter 
about  Anastasius  Papadopoulos,  as  a  short  calculation 
proved  that  it  could  not  have  reached  her.  I  wandered 
round  and  round  the  garden  paths  vainly  seeking  for  the 
motive.  Was  it  escape  from  Dale  ?  Had  she,  woman- 
like, taken  the  step  which  she  was  so  anxious  to  avoid — 
and  in  order  to  avoid  taking  which  all  this  bother  had 
arisen — and  given  the  boy  his  dismissal  ?  If  so,  why 
had  she  not  gone  to  Paris  or  St.  Petersburg  or  Tierra  del 


142  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Fuego  ?  Why  Algiers  ?  Dale  abandoned  outright, 
the  necessity  for  finding  her  husband  had  disappeared. 
Perhaps  she  was  coming  to  request  me,  on  that  account, 
to  give  up  the  search.  But  why  travel  across  seas  and 
continents  when  a  telegram  or  a  letter  would  have 
sufficed  ?  She  was  coming,  at  any  rate  ;  and  as  she 
gave  no  date  I  presumed  that  she  would  travel  straight 
through  and  arrive  in  about  forty-eight  hours.  This 
reflection  caused  a  gleam  of  sunshine  to  traverse  my 
gloom.  I  was  not  physically  capable  of  performing  the 
journey  to  Tlemcen  and  back  before  her  arrival.  I 
could,  therefore,  dream  among  the  roses  of  the  garden 
for  another  couple  of  days.  And  when  she  came,  perhaps 
she  would  like  to  go  to  Tlemcen  herself  and  try  the 
effect  of  her  woman's  fascinations  on  the  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  and  officers  of  the  3rd  Regiment  of  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique. 

In  any  case,  her  sudden  departure  augured  well  for 
Dale's  liberation.  If  the  rupture  had  occurred  I  was 
quite  contented.  That  is  what  I  had  wished  to  accom- 
plish. It  only  remained  now  to  return  to  London,  while 
breath  yet  stayed  in  my  body,  and  lead  him  diplomati- 
cally to  the  feet  of  Maisie  Ellerton.  Then  I  would  have 
ended  my  eumoirous  task,  and  my  last  happy  words 
would  be  a  paternal  benediction.  But  all  the  same,  I 
had  set  forth  to  find  this  confounded  captain  and  did  not 
want  to  be  hindered.  The  sportsman's  instinct  which, 
in  my  robust  youth,  had  led  me  to  crawl  miles  on  my 
belly  over  wet  heather  in  order  to  get  a  shot  at  a  stag, 
I  found,  somewhat  to  my  alarm,  was  urging  me  on  this 
chase  after  Captain  Vauvenarde.  He  was  my  quarry. 
I  resented  interference.  Deer-stalking  then,  and  man- 
stalking  now,  I  wanted  no  petticoats  in  the  party.  I 
worked  myself  up  into  an  absurd  state  of  irritability. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  143 

Why  was  she  coming  to  spoil  the  sport  ?  I  had  arranged 
to  track  her  husband  down,  reason  with  him,  work  on 
his  feehngs,  telegraph  for  his  wife,  and  in  an  affecting 
interview  throw  them  into  each  other's  arms.  Now, 
goodness  knows  what  would  happen.  Certainly  not 
my  beautifully  conceived  coup  de  theatre. 

"  And  she  has  the  impertinence,"  I  cried  in  my  wrath, 
"  to  sign  herself  '  Lola  '  !  As  if  I  ever  called  her,  or 
could  ever  be  in  a  position  to  call  her  '  Lola  '  !  I  should 
like  to  know,"  I  exclaimed,  hurling  the  "  Indicateur  des 
Chemins  de  Fer  "  on  to  the  seat  of  a  summer-house,  built 
after  the  manner  of  a  little  Greek  temple,  "  I  should  like 
to  know  what  the  deuce  she  means  by  it !  " 

"  Hallo  !  HaUo  !  What  the  devil's  the  matter  ?  " 
cried  a  voice  ;  and  I  found  I  had  disturbed  from  his 
slumbers  an  unnoticed  Colonel  of  British  cavalry. 

"  A  thousand  pardons  !  "  said  L  "I  thought  I  was 
alone,  and  gave  vent  to  the  feelings  of  the  moment." 

Colonel  Bunnion  stretched  himself  and  joined  me. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  this  place,"  he  said.  "  It's  so 
liverish.  One  lolls  about  and  sleeps  all  day  long,  and 
one's  liver  gets  like  a  Strasburg  goose's  and  plays  Old 
Harry  with  one's  temper.  Why  one  should  come  here 
when  there  are  pheasants  to  be  shot  in  England, 
I  don't  know." 

"  Neither  your  liver  nor  your  temper  seem  to  be 
much  affected.  Colonel,"  said  I,  "for  you've  been 
violently  awakened  from  a  sweet  sleep  and  are  in  a  most 
amiable  frame  of  mind." 

He  laughed,  suggested  exercise,  the  Briton's  panacea 
for  all  ills,  and  took  me  for  a  walk.  When  we  returned 
at  dusk,  and  after  I  had  had  tea  before  the  fire  (for 
December  evenings  in  Algiers  are  chilly)  in  one  of  the 
pretty  Moorish  alcoves  of  the  lounge,  my  good  humour 


144  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

was  restored.  I  viewed  our  pursuit  of  Captain  Vau- 
venarde  in  its  right  aspect — that  of  a  veritable  Snark- 
Hunt  of  which  I  was  the  Bellman — and  the  name 
"  Lola  "  curled  itself  round  my  heart  with  the  same  grate- 
ful sensation  of  comfort  as  the  warm  China  tea.  After 
all,  it  was  only  as  Lola  that  I  thought  of  her.  The 
name  fitted  her  personality,  which  Brandt  did  not. 
Out  of  "  Brandt  "  I  defy  you  to  get  any  curvilinear 
suggestion.  I  reflected  dreamily  that  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  walk  with  her  among  the  roses  in  the  sun- 
shine and  to  drink  tea  with  her  in  dusky  Moorish  alcoves. 
I  also  thought,  with  an  enjoyable  spice  of  malice,  of 
what  the  retired  Colonels  and  elderly  maiden  ladies 
would  have  to  say  about  Lola  when  she  arrived.  They 
would  have  a  gorgeous  time. 

So  light-hearted  did  I  become  that,  the  next  evening, 
while  I  was  dressing  for  dinner,  I  did  not  frown  when 
the  chasseur  brought  me  up  the  huge  trilingual  visiting 
card  of  Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  up,"  said  L 

Rogers  handed  me  my  black  tie  and  began  to  gather 
together  discarded  garments  so  as  to  make  the  room 
tidy  for  the  visitor.  It  was  a  comfortable  bed-sitting 
room,  with  the  bed  in  an  alcove  and  a  tiny  dressing- 
room  attached.  A  wood  fire  burned  on  the  hearth,  on 
each  side  of  which  was  an  arm-chair.  Presently  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Rogers  opened  it  and 
admitted  Papadopoulos,  who  forthwith  began  to  exe- 
cute his  usual  manoeuvres  of  salutation.  Rogers  stood 
staring  and  open-mouthed  at  the  apparition.  It  took 
all  his  professional  training  in  imperturbability  to  enable 
him  to  make  a  decent  exit.  This  increased  my  good 
humour.     I  grasped  the  dwarf's  hand, 

"  My  dear  Professor,   I   am  delighted  to  see  you. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  145 

Pray  excuse  my  receiving  you  in  this  unceremonious 
fashion,  and  sit  down  by  the  fire." 

I  hastily  completed  my  toilet  by  stuffing  my  watch, 
letter-case,  loose  change  and  handkerchief  into  my 
pockets,  and  took  a  seat  opposite  him. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  he  politely,  "  who  must  apologise  for 
this  untimely  call.  I  have  wanted  to  pay  my  respects 
to  you  since  I  arrived  in  Algiers,  but  till  now  I  have  had 
no  opportunity." 

"Allow  me,"  said  I,  "to  disembarrass  you  of  your 
hat." 

I  took  the  high-crowned,  flat-brimmed  thing  which 
he  was  nursing  somewhat  nervously  on  his  knees,  and 
put  it  on  the  table.  He  murmured  that  I  was  "  Zchr 
aimahle." 

"  And  the  charming  Monsieur  Saupiquet,  how  is 
he  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  drew  out  his  gilt-embossed  pocket-book,  and 
from  it  extracted  an  envelope. 

"  This,"  said  he,  handing  it  to  me,  "  is  the  receipt.     I 
have  to  thank  you  again  for  regulating  the  debt,  as  it 
has  enabled  me  to  transact  with  Monsieur  Saupiquet 
the  business  on  which  I  summoned  him  from  Toulon. 
He  is  the  most  obstinate,  pig-headed  camel  that  ever 
lived,  and  I  believe  he  has  returned  to  Toulon  in  the  best 
of  health.     No,  thank  you,"  he  added,  refusing  my  offer 
of  cigarettes,  "  I  don't  smoke.     It  disturbs  the  perfect 
adjustment  of  my  nerves,  and  so  imperils  my  gigantic 
combinations.     It  is  also  distasteful  to  my  cats." 
"  You  must  miss  them  greatly,"  said  I. 
He  sighed — then   his  face  lit  up   with   inspiration. 
"  Ah,  signer  !     What  would  one  not  sacrifice  for  an 
idea,  for  duty,  for  honour,  for  the  happiness  of  those  we 
love  ?  " 

K 


146  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Those  are  sentiments,  Monsieur  Papadopoulos,"  I 
remarked,  "  which  do  you  infinite  credit." 

"  And,  therefore,  I  express  them,  sir,"  he  rephed,  "  to 
show  you  what  manner  of  man  I  am."  He  paused  for 
a  moment ;  then  bending  forward,  his  hands  on  his 
little  knees — he  was  sitting  far  back  in  the  chair  and 
his  legs  were  dangling  like  a  child's — he  regarded  me 
intently. 

"  Would  you  be  equally  chivalrous  for  the  sake  of  an 
idea  ?  " 

I  replied  that  I  hoped  I  should  conduct  myself  en 
galant  homme  in  any  circumstances. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  cried.  "  My  intuition  is  never 
wrong.  An  English  statesman  is  as  fearless  as 
Agamemnon,  and  as  wise  as  Nestor.  Have  you  your 
evening  free  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  wonderingly. 

"  Would  you  care  to  devote  it  to  a  perilous  adven- 
ture ?  Not  so  perilous,  for  I,  moi-meme  " — he  thumped 
his  chest — "  will  be  there.     But  still  molto  gefahrlich." 

His  black  eyes  held  mine  in  burning  intensity.  So  as 
to  hide  a  smile  I  lit  a  cigarette.  I  know  not  what  little 
imp  in  motley  possessed  me  that  evening.  He  seemed 
to  hit  me  over  the  head  with  his  bladder,  and  counsel 
me  to  play  the  fool  like  himself,  for  once  in  my  life 
before  I  died.     I  could  almost  hear  him  speaking. 

"  Surely  a  crazy  dwarf  out  of  a  nightmare  is  more 
entertaining  company  than  decayed  Colonels  of  British 
cavalry." 

I  blew  two  or  three  puffs  of  my  cigarette,  and  met  my 
guest's  eager  gaze. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  put  myself  at  your  disposal," 
said  I.     "  May  I  ask,  without  indiscretion ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  interrupted,  "  don't  ask.     Secrecy  is 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  147 

part  of  the  gigantic  combination.     En  galant  homme,  I 
require  of  you — confidence." 

With  an  irresistible  touch  of  mockery  I  said  :  "  Pro- 
fessor Papadopoulos,  I  will  be  happy  to  follow  you  blind- 
fold to  the  lair  of  whatever  fire-breathing  dragon  you 
may  want  me  to  help  you  destroy." 

He  rose  and  grasped  his  hat  and  made  me  a  profound 
bow. 

"  You  will  not  find  me  wanting  in  courage,  Monsieur, 
There  is  another  small  favour  I  would  ask  of  you.  Will 
you  bring  some  of  your  visiting-cards  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  I. 

At  that  moment  the  gong  clanged  loudly  through  the 
hotel. 

"  It  is  your  dinner-hour,"  said  the  dwarf.  "  I  depart. 
Our  rendez-vous " 

"  Let  us  have  no  rendez-vous,  my  dear  Professor,"  I 
interposed.  "  What  more  simple  than  that  you  should 
do  me  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  me  here  ?  We  can 
thus  fortify  ourselves  with  food  and  drink  for  our 
adventure,  and  we  can  start  on  it  comfortably  together 
whenever  it  seems  good  to  you." 

The  little  man  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  looked  at 
me  in  an  odd  way. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  asked  in  a  softened  voice,  "  that 
you  ask  me  to  dine  with  you  in  the  midst  of  your 
aristocratic  compatriots  ?  " 

"  Why,  evidently,"  said  I,  baffled.  "  It's  only  an 
ordinary  table  d'hote  dinner." 

To  my  astonishment,  tears  actually  spurted  out  of  the 
eyes  of  the  amazing  little  creature.  He  took  my  hand 
and  before  I  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  it  he  had 
touched  it  with  his  lips. 

' '  My   dear  Professor  !  "  I  cried  in  dismay. 


148  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

He  put  up  a  pudgy  hand,  and  said  with  great  dignity  : 

"  I  cannot  dine  with  you,  Monsieur  de  Gex.  But  I 
thank  you  from  my  heart  for  your  generous  kindness. 
I  shall  never  forget  it  to  my  dying  day." 

"  But " 

He  would  listen  to  no  protests.  "  If  you  will  do  me 
the  honour  of  coming  at  nine  o'clock  to  the  Cafe  de 
Bordeaux,  at  the  comer  of  the  Place  du  Gouvemement, 
I  shall  be  there.  Auf  Wiedersehen,  Monsieur,  and  a 
thousand  thanks.  I  beg  you  as  a  favour  not  to  accom- 
pany me.     I  couldn't  bear  it." 

And,  drawing  a  great  white  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  he  wiped  his  eyes,  blew  his  nose,  and  dis- 
appeared like  a  flash  through  the  door  which  I  held 
open  for  him. 

I  went  down  to  dinner  in  a  chastened  mood.  The 
little  man  had  not  shown  me  before  the  pathetic  side  of 
the  freak's  life.  By  asking  him  to  dinner  as  if  he  were 
normal  I  had  earned  his  eternal  gratitude.  And  yet 
with  a  smile,  which  I  trust  the  recording  Angel  when  he 
makes  up  my  final  balance-sheet  of  good  and  evil  will 
not  ascribe  to  an  unfeeling  heart,  I  could  not  help  formu- 
lating the  hope  that  his  gratitude  would  not  be  shown 
by  presents  of  China  fowls  sitting  on  eggs,  Tyrolese 
chalets  and  bottles  with  ladders  and  little  men  inside 
them.  I  did  not  feel  within  me  the  wide  charity  of  Lola 
Brandt  ;  and  I  could  not  repress  a  smile,  as  I  ate  my 
solitary  meal,  at  the  perils  of  the  adventure  to  which  I 
was  invited.  I  had  no  doubt  that  it  bore  the  same 
relation  to  danger  as  Monsieur  Saupiquet's  sevenpence- 
half penny  bore  to  a  serious  debt. 

Colonel  Bunnion,  a  genial  little  red-faced  man,  with 
bulgy  eyes  and  a  moustache  too  big  for  his  body,  who 
sat,  also  solitary,  at  the  next  table  to  mine,  suddenly 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  149 

began  to  utter  words  which  I  discovered  were  addressed 
to  me. 

"  Most  amazing  thing  happened  to  me  as  I  was  com- 
ing down  to  dinner.  Just  got  out  of  the  corridor  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  when  down  rushed  something  about 
three  foot  nothing  in  a  devil  of  a  top-hat  and  butted  me 
full  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  bounded  off  like  a  foot- 
ball. When  I  picked  it  up  I  found  it  was  a  man — give 
you  my  word — it  was  a  man.  About  so  high.  Gave  me 
quite  a  turn." 

"  That,"  said  I,  with  a  smile,  "  was  my  friend  Pro- 
fessor Anastasius  Papadopoulos." 
"  A  friend  of  yours  ?  " 
"  He  had  just  been  calling  on  me." 
"  Then  I  wish  you'd  entreat  him  not  to  go  downstairs 
like  a  six-inch  shell.     I'll  have  a  bruise  to-morrow,  where 
the  crown   of  his  hat  caught  me,   as  big  as   a  soup- 
plate." 

I  offered  the  cheerily  indignant  warrior  apologies  for 
my  friend's  parabolic  method  of  descent,  and  suggested 
Elliman's  Embrocation. 

"  The  most  extraordinary  part  of  it,"  he  interrupted, 
"  was  that  when  I  picked  him  up  he  was  weeping  like 
anything.     What  was  he  crying  about  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  sensitive  creature,"  said  I,  "  and  he  doesn't 
come  upon  the  pit  of  the  stomach  of  a  Colonel  of  British 
Cavalry  every  day  in  the  week." 

He  sniffed  uncertainly  at  the  remark  for  a  second  or 
two  and  then  broke  into  a  laugh  and  asked  me  to  play 
bridge  after  dinner.  On  the  two  preceding  evenings  he 
and  I  had  attempted  to  cheer,  in  this  manner,  the  desola- 
tion of  a  couple  of  the  elderly  maiden  ladies.  But  I  may 
say  parenthetically,  that  as  he  played  bridge  as  if  he 
were  leading  a  cavalry  charge  according  to  a  text-book 


ISO  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

on  tactics,  and  as  I  play  card  games  in  a  soft,  mental 
twilight,  and  as  the  two  ladies  were  very  keen  bridge- 
players  indeed,  I  had  great  doubts  as  to  the  success  of 
our  attempts. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  I,  "  but  I'm  going  down  into  the 
town  to-night." 

"  Theatre  ?  If  so,  I'll  go  with  you." 
The  gallant  gentleman  was  always  at  a  loose  end 
Unless  he  could  persuade  another  human  being  to  do 
something  with  him — no  matter  what — he  would  joy- 
fully have  played  cat's-cradle  with  me  by  the  hour — 
he  sat  in  awful  boredom  meditating  on  his  liver. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  the  theatre,"  I  said,  "  and  I  wish  I 
could  ask  you  to  accompany  me  on  my  adventure." 
The  Colonel  raised  his  eyebrows.     I  laughed. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  twang  guitars  under  balconies." 
The  Colonel  reddened  and  swore  he  had  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing.     He  was  a  perjured  villain  ;  but  I  did 
not  tell  him  so. 

"  In  what  my  adventure  will  consist  I  can't  say,"  I 
remarked. 

"  If  you're  going  to  fool  about  Algiers  at  night  you'd 
better  carry  a  revolver." 

I  told  him  I  did  not  possess  such  deadly  weapons. 
He  offered  to  lend  me  one.  The  two  Misses  Bostock 
from  South  Shields,  who  sat  at  a  table  within  earshot 
and  had  been  following  our  conversation,  manifested 
signs  of  excited  interest. 

"  I  shall  be  quite  protected,"  said  I,  "  by  the  dyna- 
mic qualities  of  your  acquaintance.  Professor  Anas- 
tasius  Papadopoulos,  with  whom  I  have  promised  to 
spend  the  evening." 
"  You  had  better  have  the  revolver,"  said  the  Colonel. 
And  so  bent  was  he  on  the  point,  that  after  dinner  he 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  151 

came  to  me  in  the  lounge  and  laid  a  loaded  six-shooter 
beside  my  coffee-cup.  The  younger  Miss  Bostock 
grew  pale.  It  looked  an  ugly,  cnml:)n)us,  devastating 
weapon. 

"  But,  my  dear  Colonel,"  I  protested,  "  it's  against 
•-.he  law  to  carry  fire-arms." 
"  Law — what  law  ?  " 
"  Why  the  law  of  France,"  said  I. 
This  staggered  him.     The  fact  of  there  being  decent 
laws  in  foreign  parts  has  staggered  many  an  honest 
Briton.     He  counselled  a  damnation  of  the  law,  and 
finally,  in  order  to  humour  him,  I  allowed  him  to  thrust 
the  uncomfortable  thing  into  my  hip-pocket. 

"Colonel,"  said  I,  when  I  took  leave  of  him  an  hour 
late:,  "  I  have  armed  myself  out  of  pure  altruism.  I 
shar.'t  be  able  to  sit  down  in  peace  and  comfort  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  Should  I  accidentally  do  so,  my 
blood  will  be  on  your  head." 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  tram  that  passes  the  hotel  gates  took  me  into  the 
town  and  dropped  me  at  the  Place  du  Gouvernement. 
With  its  strange  fusion  of  East  and  West,  its  great 
white-domed  mosque  Hanked  by  the  tall  minaret  con- 
trasthig  with  its  formal  French  colonnaded  fa9ades,  its 
grouphigs  of  majestic  white-robed  forms  and  common- 
place figures  in  caps  and  hard  felt  hats  ;  the  myster/  of 
its  palm-trees,  and  the  crudity  of  its  flaring  electric 
lights,  it  gave  an  impression  of  unreality,  of  a  modern 
contractor's  idea  of  Fairyland,  where  anything  gro- 
tesque might  assume  an  air  of  noniiality.  The  moon 
shone  full  in  the  heavens,  and  as  I  crossed  the  Place  I 
saw  the  equestrian  statue  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans  sil- 
houetted against  the  mosque.  The  port,  to  the  east,  was 
quiet  at  this  hour,  and  the  shipping  lay  dreamily  in  the 
moonlight.  Far  away  one  could  see  the  dim  outlines 
of  the  Kabyle  Mountains,  and  the  vague  melting  of  sea 
and  sky  into  a  near  horizon.  The  undefinable  smell  of 
the  East  was  in  the  air. 

The  Cafe  de  Bordeaux,  which  forms  an  angle  of  the 
Plac^,  blazed  in  front  of  me.  A  few  hardy  souls,  a 
Zouave  or  two,  an  Arab,  a  bored  Englishman  and  his 
wife,  and  some  French  inhabitants  were  sitting  outside 
in  the  chilliness.  I  entered.  The  cafe  was  filled  with  a 
nondescript  crowd,  and  the  rattle  of  dominoes  rose 
above  the  hum  of  talk.  In  a  comer  near  the  door  I  dis- 
covered the  top  of  a  silk  hat  projecting  above  a  widely 

iSa 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  153 

opened  newspaper  grasped  by  two  pudgy  hands,  and  I 
recognised  the  Professor. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  when  I  had  taken  a  seat  at  his 
tabic,  "  if  the  unknown  terrors  which  you  are  going  to 
confront  dismay  you,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  consider 
yourself  bound  to  me." 

"  My  dear  Professor,"  I  replied,  "  a  brave  man  only 
tastes  of  death  but  once," 

He  was  much  dehghted  at  the  sentiment,  which  he 
took  to  be  original. 

"  I  shall  quote  it,"  said  he,  "  whenever  my  honour  or 
my  courage  is  called  into  question.  It  is  not  often  that 
a  man  has  the  temerity  to  do  so.  Can  I  have  the  honour 
of  offering  you  a  whisky  and  soda  ?  " 

"  Have  we  time  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  We  have  time,"  he  said,  solemnly  consulting  his 
watch.     "  Things  will  ripen." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in 
drinking  to  their  maturity." 

Wliile  we  were  drinking  our  whisky  and  soda  he 
talked  volubly  of  many  things — his  travels,  his  cats,  his 
own  incredible  importance  in  the  cosmos.  And  as  he 
sat  there  vapouring  about  the  pathetically  insignificant 
he  looked  more  like  Napoleon  III.  than  ever.  His  eyes 
had  the  same  mournful  depths,  his  features  the  same 
stamp  of  fatality.  Each  man  had  his  gigantic  com- 
binations— perhaps  equally  important  in  the  eyes  of  the 
High  Gods.  I  was  filled  with  an  immense  pity  for 
Napoleon  III. 

Of  the  object  of  the  adventure  he  said  nothing.  As 
secrecy  seemed  to  be  a  vital  element  in  his  fifteen-cent 
scheme,  I  showed  no  embarrassing  curiosity.  Indeed, 
I  felt  but  little,  though  I  was  certain  that  the  adventure 
was  connected  with  the  world-cracking  revelations  of 


154  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Monsieur  Saupiquet,  and  was  undertaken  in  the  interest 
of  his  beloved  lady,  Lola  Brandt.  But  it  was  like  play- 
ing at  pirates  with  a  child,  and  my  pity  for  Napoleon  gave 
place  to  pity  for  my  valiant  but  childish  little  friend. 

At  last  he  looked  again  at  his  watch. 

"  The  hour  has  struck.     Let  us  proceed." 

Instinctively  I  summoned  the  waiter,  and  drew  a 
coin  from  my  pocket  ;  when  the  gro\^al-up  person  and 
the  small  boy  hobnob  together  the  former  pays.  But 
Anastasius,  with  a  swift  look  of  protest,  anticipated  my 
intention.  I  was  his  guest  for  the  evening.  I  yielded 
apologetically,  the  score  was  paid,  and  we  went  forth 
into  the  moonlight. 

He  led  me  across  the  Place  du  Gouvernement  and 
struck  straight  up  the  hill  past  the  Cathedral,  and,  turn- 
ing, plunged  into  a  network  of  narrow  streets,  where  the 
poor  of  aU  races  lived  together  in  amity  and  evil  odours. 
Shops  chiefly  occupied  the  ground  floors  ;  some  were 
the  ordinary  humble  shops  of  Europeans  ;  others  were 
caves  lit  by  a  smoky  lamp,  where  Arabs  lounged  and 
smoked  around  the  tailors  or  cobblers  squatting  at  their 
work  ;  others  were  Jewish,  with  Hebrew  inscriptions. 
There  were  dark  Arab  cafes,  noisy  Italian  wine-shops, 
butchers'  stalls  ;  children  of  all  ages  played  and 
screamed  about  the  precipitous  cobble-paved  streets ; 
and  the  shrill  cries  of  Jewish  women,  sitting  at  their 
doors,  rose  in  rebuke  of  husband  or  offspring.  Not 
many  lights  appeared  through  the  shuttered  windows  of 
the  dark,  high  houses.  Overhead,  between  the  two 
facades,  one  saw  a  strip  of  paleness  which  one  knew  was 
the  moonlit  sky.  Conversation  with  my  companion 
being  difficult — the  top  of  his  silk  hat  just  reached  my 
elbow — I  strode  along  in  silence,  Anastasius  trotting  by 
my  side.     Many  jeers  and  jests  were  flung  at  us  as  we 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  155 

passed,  whereat  he  scowled  terribly ;  but  no  one 
molested  us.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Anastasius 
attributed  this  to  fear  of  his  fierce  demeanour.  If  so, 
he  was  happy,  as  were  the  simple  souls  who  flouted  ; 
and  this  rellection  kept  my  mind  serene. 

Presently  we  turned  into  a  wide  and  less  poverty- 
stricken  street,  which  I  felt  sure  we  could  have  reached 
by  a  less  tortuous  and  malodorous  path.  A  few  yards 
down  we  came  to  a  dark  porte  cocherc.  The  dwarf 
halted,  crossed,  so  as  to  read  the  number  by  the  gas- 
lamp,  and  joining  me,  said  : 

"  It  is  here.     Have  you  your  visiting-cards  ready  ? 

I  nodded.  We  proceeded  down  the  dark  entry  till  we 
came  to  a  slovenly,  ill-kept  glass  box  lit  by  a  small  gas- 
jet,  whence  emerged  a  slovenly,  ill-kept  man.  This  was 
the  concierge.  Anastasius  addressed  a  remark  to  him 
which  I  did  not  catch. 

"  Au  fond  de  la  cour,  troisieme  d  gauche,''''  said  the 
concierge. 

As  yet  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  peculiarly  perilous 
about  the  adventure.  We  crossed  the  cobble-paved 
courtyard  and  mounted  an  evil-smelling  stone  staircase, 
blackened  here  and  there  by  the  occasional  gas-jets.  On 
the  third  landing  we  halted.  Anastasius  put  up  his 
hand  and  gripped  mine. 

"Two  strong  men  together,"  said  he,  "need  fear 
nothing." 

I  confess  my  only  fear  was  lest  the  confounded  revolver 
which  swung  insecurely  in  my  hip-pocket  might  go  off  of 
its  own  accord.  I  did  not  mention  this  to  my  companion. 
He  raised  his  hat,  wiped  his  brow,  and  rang  the  bell. 

The  door  opened  about  six  inches,  and  a  man's  dark 
moustachioed  face  appeared. 

"  Vous  desirez,  Messieurs  ?  " 


156  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

As  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  we  desired,  I  let 
Anastasius  be  spokesman. 

"  Here  is  an  Enghsh  milord,"  said  Anastasius  boldly, 
"  who  would  like  to  be  admitted  for  the  evening  to  the 
privileges  of  the  club." 

"  Enter,  gentlemen,"  said  the  man,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  porter. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  small  vestibule.  In  front  of 
us  was  a  large  door,  on  the  right  a  small  one,  both  closed. 
At  a  table  by  the  large  door  sat  a  dirty,  out-of-elbows 
raven  of  a  man  reading  a  newspaper.  The  latter 
looked  up  and  addressed  me. 

"  You  wish  to  enter  the  club.  Monsieur  ?  " 

I  had  no  particular  longing  to  do  so,  but  I  politely 
answered  that  such  was  my  desire. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  your  visiting-card,  I  will  submit 
it  to  the  secretariat.'''' 

I  produced  my  card  ;  Anastasius  thrust  a  pencil  into 
my  hand. 

"  Write  my  name  on  it,  too." 

I  obeyed.  The  raven  sent  the  porter  with  the  card 
into  the  room  on  the  right,  and  resumed  the  perusal  of 
his  soiled  newspaper.  I  looked  at  Anastasius.  The 
little  man  was  quivering  with  excitement.  The  porter 
returned  after  a  few  minutes  with  a  couple  of  pink  oval 
cards  which  he  handed  to  each  of  us.  I  glanced  at 
mine.  On  it  was  inscribed  :  "  Cercle  Africain  d' Alger. 
Carte  de  Memhre  Honor  aire.  Une  soiree.'"  And  then 
there  was  a  line  for  the  honorary  member's  signature. 
The  raven  man  dipped  a  pen  in  the  ink-pot  in  front  of 
it  and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  Will  you  sign,  Messieurs  ?  " 

We  executed  this  formality  ;  he  retained  the  cards, 
and  opening  the  great  door,  said  : 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  157 

"  Entrez,  Messieurs  !  " 

The  door  closed  behind  us.  It  was  simply  a  tripot, 
or  gambling-den.  And  all  this  solemn  farce  of 
secretariats  and  caries  d'entree  to  obtain  admission  ! 
It  is  curious  how  the  bureaucratic  instinct  is  ingrained 
in  the  French  character. 

It  was  a  large,  ill-ventilated  room,  blue  with  cigarette 
and  cigar  smoke.  Some  thirty  men  were  sitting  or 
standing  around  a  baccarat  table  in  the  centre,  and  two 
or  three  groups  hung  around  ecarte  tables  in  the  corners. 
A  personage  who  looked  like  a  sHghtly  more  prosperous 
brother  of  the  raven  outside  and  wore  a  dinner-jacket 
promenaded  the  room  with  the  air  of  one  in  authority. 
He  scrutinised  us  carefully  from  a  distance,  then  ad- 
vanced and  greeted  us  pohtely. 

"  You  have  chosen  an  excellent  evening,"  said  he. 
"  There  are  a  great  many  people,  and  the  banks  are 
large." 

He  bowed  and  passed  on.  A  dingy  waiter  took  our 
hats  and  coats  and  hung  them  up.  Anastasius  plucked 
me  by  the  sleeve. 

"  If  you  don't  mind  staking  a  little  for  the  sake  of 
appearances,  I  shall  be  grateful." 

I  whispered  :  "  Can  you  tell  me  now,  my  dear 
Professor,  for  what  reason  you  have  brought  me  to 
this  gaming-hell  ?  " 

He  looked  up  at  me  out  of  his  mournful  eyes  and 
murmured,  "  Patienza,  licher  Herr.'"  Then  sprang  a 
vacant  place  behind  the  chairs  at  the  baccarat  table,  he 
darted  thither,  and  I  followed  in  his  wake.  There  must 
have  been  about  a  couple  of  hundred  louis  in  the  bank, 
which  was  held  by  a  dissipated,  middle-aged  man  who, 
having  once  been  handsome  in  a  fleshy  way,  had  run 
to  fat.     His  black  hair,  cropped  short,  stood  up  Hke  a 


158  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

shoebrush,  and  when  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  a  roll 
of  flesh  rose  above  his  collar.  I  disliked  the  fellow  for 
his  unhealthiness,  and  for  the  hard  mockery  in  his  puffy 
eyes.  The  company  seemed  fairly  homogeneous  in  its 
raffishness,  though  here  and  there  appeared  a  thin, 
aristocratic  face,  with  grey  moustache  and  pointed 
beard,  and  the  homely  anxious  visage  of  a  small  trades- 
man. But  in  bulk  it  looked  an  ugly,  seedy  crowd,  with 
unwashed  bodies  and  unclean  souls.  I  noticed  an 
Italian  or  two,  and  a  villainous  Englishman  with  a  face 
like  that  of  a  dilapidated  horse.  A  glance  at  the  table 
plastered  with  silver  and  gold  showed  me  that  they 
were  playing  with  a  five-franc  minimum. 

Anastasius  drew  a  handful  of  louis  from  his  pocket 
and  staked  one.  I  staked  a  five-franc  piece.  The 
cards  were  dealt,  the  banker  exposed  a  nine,  the  highest 
number,  and  the  croupier's  fiat  spoon  swept  the  table, 
A  murmur  arose.  The  banker  was  having  the  luck  of 
Satan. 

"  He  always  protects  me,  the  good  fellow,"  laughed 
the  banker,  who  had  overheard  the  remark. 

Again  we  staked,  again  the  hands  were  dealt.  Our 
tableau  or  end  of  the  table  won,  the  other  lost.  The 
croupier  threw  the  coins  in  payment.  I  let  my  double 
stake  lie,  and  so  did  Anastasius.  At  the  next  coup  we 
lost  again.  The  banker  stuffed  his  winnings  into  his 
pocket  and  declared  a  suite.  The  bank  was  put  up  to 
auction,  and  was  eventually  knocked  down  to  the  same 
personage  for  fifty  louis.  The  horse-headed  Englishman 
cried  "  banco,^^  which  means  that  he  would  play  the 
banker  for  the  whole  amount.  The  hands  were  dealt, 
the  Englishman  lost,  and  the  game  started  afresh  with 
a  hundred  louis  in  the  bank.  The  proceedings  began  to 
bore  me.     Even  if  my  experience  of  life  had  not  sug. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  159 

gested  that  scrupulous  fairness  and  honour  were  not  the 
guiding  principles  of  such  an  assemblage,  I  should  have 
taken  little  interest  in  the  game.  I  am  a  great  behever 
in  the  wholesomeness  of  compounding  for  sins  you  are 
inclined  to  by  damning  those  you  have  no  mind  to.  It 
aids  the  nice  balance  of  life.  And  gambling  is  one  of  the 
sins  I  delight  to  damn.  The  rapid  getting  of  money 
has  never  appealed  to  me,  who  have  always  had  suf- 
ficient for  my  moderately  epicurean  needs,  and  least  of 
all  did  it  append  to  me  now  when  I  was  on  the  brink  of 
my  journey  to  the  land  where  French  gold  and  bank- 
notes were  not  in  currency.  I  repeat,  therefore,  that 
I  was  bored. 

"  If  the  perils  of  the  adventure  don't  begin  soon,  my 
dear  Professor,"  I  whispered,  "  I  shall  go  to  sleep 
standing." 

Again  he  asked  for  patience  and  staked  a  hundred- 
franc  note.  At  that  moment  the  man  sitting  at  the 
table  in  front  of  him  rose,  and  the  dwarf  slipped  swiftly 
into  his  seat.  He  won  his  hundred  francs  and  made  the 
same  stake  again.  It  was  obvious  that  the  little  man 
did  not  damn  gambling.  It  was  a  sin  to  which  he 
appeared  peculiarly  inclined.  The  true  inwardness  of 
the  perilous  adventure  began  to  dawn  on  me.  He  had 
come  here  to  make  the  money  wherewith  he  could 
further  his  gigantic  combinations.  All  this  mystery 
was  part  of  his  childish  cunning.  I  hardly  knew 
whether  to  box  the  httle  creature's  ears,  to  box  my  own, 
or  to  laugh .  I  compromised  with  a  smile  on  the  last  alter- 
native, and  baccarat  being  a  dreary  game  to  watch,  I 
strolled  off  to  the  nearest  ecarte  table,  and,  to  justify  my 
presence  in  the  room,  backed  one  of  the  players. 

Presently  my  attention  was  called  to  the  baccarat 
table  by  a  noise  as  of  some  dispute,  and  turning,  I  saw 


i6o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

the  gentleman  in  the  dinner-jacket  hurrying  to  what 
appeared  to  be  the  storm-centre,  the  place  where 
Anastasius  was  sitting.  Suspecting  some  minor  peril, 
I  left  the  ecarte  players,  and  joined  the  gentleman  in  the 
dinner-jacket.  It  seemed  that  the  hand,  which  is 
played  in  rotation  by  those  seated  at  each  tableau  or 
half-table,  had  come  round  for  the  first  time  to  Anas- 
tasius, and  objection  had  been  taken  to  his  playing  it^ 
on  the  score  of  his  physical  appearance.  The  dwarf  was 
protesting  vehemently.  He  had  played  baccarat  in  all 
the  clubs  of  Europe,  and  had  never  received  such  treat- 
ment. It  was  infamous,  it  was  insulting.  The  mal- 
contents of  the  punt  paid  little  heed  to  his  remonstrances. 
They  resented  the  entrusting  of  their  fortunes  to  one 
whose  chin  barely  rose  above  the  level  of  the  table. 
The  banker  lit  a  cigarette  and  sat  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  smile  of  mockery.  His  attitude  brought  up  the  super- 
fluous flesh  about  his  chin  and  the  roll  of  fat  at  the 
back  of  his  neck.  With  his  moustache  en  croc,  and  his 
shoebrush  hair,  I  have  rarely  beheld  a  more  sensual- 
looking  desperado. 

"  But,  gentlemen,"   said  he,    "  I   see   no   objection 
whatever  to  Monsieur  playing  the  hand." 

"  Naturally,"  retorted  a  voice,  "  since  it  would  be 
to  your  advantage." 

The  raven  in  the  dinner-jacket  commanded  silence. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  decide  that  according  to  the  rules  of 
the  game,  Monsieur  is  entitled  to  play  the  hand." 

"  Bravo  !  "   exclaimed  one  or  two  of  my   friend's 
supporters, 

"  Oest  idiot  !  "  growled  the  malcontents. 

"  Messieurs,  faites  vos  jeux  !  "  cried  the  croupier. 

The  stakes    were    laid,  the  banker  looked  around, 
estimating  the  comparative  values  of  the  two  tableaux. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  i6i 

Anastasius  had  backed  his  hand  with  a  pile  of  louis. 
To  encourage  him,  and  to  concihate  the  hostle  punt, 
I  threw  down  a  hundred-franc  note. 

"  Les  jeux  sont  fails  ?    Rien  ne  va  plus.'' 

The  banker  dealt,  two  cards  to  each  tableau,  two  to 
himself.  Anastasius,  trembling  with  nervous  excite- 
ment, stretched  out  a  palsied  little  fist  towards  the 
Cards.  He  drew  them  towards  him  face  downwards, 
peeped  at  them  in  the  most  approved  manner,  and  in  a 
husky  voice  called  for  an  extra  card. 

The  card  dealt  face  upwards  was  a  five.  The  banker 
turned  up  his  own  cards,  a  two  and  a  four,  making  a 
point  of  six.  Naturally  he  stood.  Anastasius  did 
nothing. 

"  Show  your  cards— show  your  cards  !  "  cried 
several  voices. 

He  turned  over  the  two  cards  originally  dealt  to  him. 
They  were  a  king  and  a  nine,  making  the  natural  nine, 
the  highest  point,  and  he  had  actually  asked  for  another 
card.  It  was  the  unforgivable  sin.  The  five  that  had 
been  dealt  to  him  brought  his  point  to  four.  There  was 
a  roar  of  indignation.  Men  with  violent  faces  rose  and 
cursed  him,  and  shook  their  fists  at  him.  Others 
clamoured  that  the  coup  was  ineffective.  They  were  not 
going  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  an  idiot  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  game.     The  hand  must  be  dealt  over  again. 

"  Jamais  de  la  vie  !  "  shouted  the  banker. 

"  Le  coup  est  bon  !  "  cried  the  raven  in  authority,  and 
the  croupier's  spoon  hovered  over  the  tableau.  But  the 
horse-headed  EngHshman  clutched  the  two  louis  he 
had  staked.  He  was  damned,  and  a  great  many  other 
things,  if  he  would  lose  his  money  that  way.  The 
raven  in  the  dinner-jacket  darted  round,  and  bending 
over  him,  caught  him  by  the  wrist.     Two  or  three  others 

I. 


i62  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

grabbed  their  stakes,  and  swore  they  would  not  pay. 
The  banker  rose  and  went  to  the  rescue  of  his  gains. 
There  was  screaming  and  shouting  and  strugghng  and 
riot  indescribable.  Those  round  about  us  went  on 
cursing  Anastasius,  who  sat  quite  still,  with  quivering 
lips,  as  helpless  as  a  rabbit.  The  raven  tore  his  way 
through  the  throng  around  the  Enghshman  and  came 
up  to  me  excited  and  dishevelled. 

"  It  is  all  your  fault,  Monsieur,"  he  shrieked,  "  for  in- 
troducing into  the  club  a  half-witted  creature  like  that." 

"  Yes,  it's  your  fault,"  cried  a  low-browed,  ugly 
fellow  looking  like  a  butcher  in  uneasy  circumstances 
who  stood  next  me.  Suddenly  the  avalanche  of 
indignation  fell  upon  my  head.  Angry,  ugly  men 
crowded  round  me  and  began  to  curse  me  instead  of 
the  dwarf.  Cries  arose  :  ''Jefez-les  d  la  porte  !  "  The 
adventure  began,  indeed,  to  grow  idiotically  perilous. 
I  had  never  been  thrown  out  of  doors  in  my  life.  I 
objected  strongly  to  the  idea.  It  might  possibly  hurt 
my  body,  and  would  certainly  offend  my  dignity.  I 
felt  that  I  could  not  make  my  exit  through  the  portals 
of  life  with  the  urbanity  on  which  I  counted,  if,  as  a 
preparatory  step,  I  had  been  thrown  out  of  a  gambling- 
hell.  There  were  only  two  things  to  be  done.  Either 
I  must  whip  out  my  ridiculous  revolver  and  do  some 
free  shooting,  or  I  must  make  an  appeal  to  the  lower 
feelings  of  the  assembly.  I  chose  the  latter  alternative. 
With  a  sudden  movement,  I  slipped  through  the  angry 
and  gesticulating  crowd,  and  leaped  on  a  chair  by  one  of 
the  deserted  ecarte  tables.  Then  I  raised  a  commanding 
arm,  and,  in  my  best  election-meeting  voice,  I  cried  : 

"  Messieurs  !  " 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  manoeuvre  caused  instant 
silence, 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  163 

"  As  my  friend  and  myself,"  I  said,  "  arc  the  cause  of 
this  unpleasant  confusion,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  pay 
the  banker  the  losses  of  the  tableau.'''' 

And  I  drew  out  and  brandished  my  pocket-book,  in 
which  by  a  special  grace  of  Providence,  there  happened 
to  be  a  considerable  sum  of  money. 

Murmurs  of  approbation  arose.  Then  the  English- 
man sang  out  : 

"  But  what  about  the  money  we  would  have  won,  if 
that  little  fool  had  played  the  game  properly  ?  " 
The  remark  was  received  with  cheers. 
"  That  amount,  too,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be  happy  to 
disburse." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  as  everybody, 
banker  and  punt,  were  satisfied.  The  raven  in  the 
dinner-jacket  came  up  and  informed  me  that  my 
proposal  solved  the  difficulty.  I  besought  him  to  make 
out  the  bill  for  my  little  entertainment  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Then  I  dismounted  from  my  chair  and 
beckoned  to  the  dwarf,  still  sitting  white  and  piteous, 
to  join  me.  He  obeyed  like  a  frightened  child  who  had 
been  naughty.  All  his  swagger  and  braggadocio  were 
gone.  His  bosom  heaved  with  suppressed  sobs.  He 
sat  down  on  the  chair  I  had  vacated  and  buried  his  face 
on  the  ecarte  table.  We  remained  thus  aloof  from  the 
crowd  who  were  intent  on  the  calculation  at  the 
baccarat  table.  At  last  the  raven  in  the  dinner-jacket 
arrived  with  a  note  of  the  amount.  It  was  two  thou- 
sand three  hundred  francs.  I  gave  him  the  notes,  and, 
taking  Anastasius  by  the  arm,  led  him  to  the  door, 
where  the  waiter  stood  with  our  hats  and  coats. 
Before  we  could  reach  it,  however,  the  banker,  who  had 
risen  from  his  seat,  crossed  the  room  and  addressed  me. 
"  Monsieur,"    said   he,   with    an   air   of   high-bred 


i64  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

courtesy,  "  I  infinitely  regret  this  unpleasant  affair 
and  I  thank  you  for  your  perfect  magnanimity." 

I  did  not  suggest  that  with  equal  magnanimity  he 
might  refund  the  forty-six  pounds  that  had  found  its 
way  from  my  pocket  to  his,  but  I  bowed  with  stiff 
politeness,  and  made  my  exit  with  as  much  dignity  as 
the  attachment  to  my  heels  of  the  crestfallen  Anastasius 
would  permit. 

Outside  I  constituted  myself  the  guide,  and  took  the 
first  turning  downhill,  knowing  that  it  would  lead  to 
the  civilised  centre  of  the  town.  The  dwarf's  round- 
about route  was  characteristic  of  his  tortuous  mind. 
We  walked  along  for  some  time  without  saying  any- 
thing. I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  reproach  the 
little  man  for  the  expensiveness  (nearly  a  hundred 
pounds)  of  his  perilous  adventure,  and  he  seemed  too 
dazed  with  shame  and  humiliation  to  speak.  At  last, 
when  we  reached,  as  I  anticipated,  the  Square  de  la 
Republique,  I  patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  dear  Professor,"  said  I.  "  We  both 
are  acquainted  with  nobler  things  than  the  ins  and  outs 
of  gaming-hells." 

He  reeled  to  a  bench  under  the  palm-trees,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  gave  vent  to  his  misery  in  the  most 
incoherent  language  ever  uttered  by  man.  I  sat  beside 
him  and  vainly  attempted  consolation. 

"  Ah,  how  mad  I  am  !  Ah,  how  contemptible  1  I 
dare  not  face  my  beautiful  cats  again  !  I  dare  not  see 
the  light  of  the  sun  {la  lumiere  der  Sonne  !).  I  have 
betrayed  my  trust.  Accursed  be  the  cards.  I,  who 
had  my  gigantic  combination.  It  is  all  gone.  Beauti- 
ful lady,  forgive  me.  Generous-hearted  friend,  forgive 
me.     I  am  the  most  miserable  of  God's  creatures." 

"  It  is  an  accident  that  might  happen  to  any  one," 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  165 

I  said  gently,  "  You  were  nervous.  You  looked  at 
the  cards,  you  mistook  the  nine  for  a  ten,  in  which  case 
you  were  right  to  call  for  another  card." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  he  wailed.  "  It  is  the  spoihng  of  my 
combination,  on  which  I  have  wasted  sleepless  nights. 
A  curse  on  my  mad  folly.  Do  you  know  who  the 
banker  was  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  He  was  Captain  Vauvenarde,  the  husband  of 
Madame  Brandt." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

You  could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather.  It  is 
a  trite  metaphor,  I  know  ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  excel- 
lent. I  repeat,  therefore,  unblushingly — you  could 
have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather.  I  gasped.  The 
little  man  wiped  his  eyes.  He  was  the  tearfullest  adult 
I  have  ever  met,  and  I  once  knew  an  Italian  prima  donna 
with  a  temperament. 

"  Captain  Vauvenarde  ?  That  man  with  the  shoe- 
brush  hair  and  the  rolls  of  fat  at  the  back  of  his  neck  ? 
Are  you  sure  ?  " 

The  dwarf  nodded.  "  I  set  out  from  England  to  find 
him.  I  swore  to  the  carissima  signora  that  I  would  do 
so.  I  have  done  it,"  he  added,  with  a  faint  return  of 
his  self-confidence. 

"  Well,  I'm  damned  !  "  said  I,  in  my  native  tongue. 

I  don't  often  use  strong  language  ;  but  the  occasion 
warranted  it.  I  was  flabbergasted,  bewildered,  out- 
raged, humiliated,  delighted,  incredulous,  and  generally 
turned  topsy-turvy.  In  conversation  one  has  no  time 
for  so  minute  an  analysis  of  one's  feelings.  I  there- 
fore summed  them  up  in  the  only  word.  Captain  Vau- 
venarde !  The  wild  goose  of  my  absurd  chase  !  Found 
by  this  flibbertigibbet  of  a  fellow,  while  I,  Simon  de 
Gex,  erstwhile  M.P.,  was  fooling  about  War  Offices  and 
regiments  !  It  was  grotesque.  It  was  monstrous.  It 
ought  not  to  have  been  allowed.  And  yet  it  saved  me 
a  vast  amount  of  trouble. 

i66 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  167 

"  I'm  damned  !  "  said  I. 

Anastasius  had  just  enough  Enghsh  to  understand. 
I  suppose,  such  is  mortal  unregeneracy,  that  it  is  the 
most  widely  understood  word  in  the  universe. 

"  And  I,"  said  he,  "  am  eternally  beaten.  I  am 
trampled  under  foot  and  shall  never  be  able  to  hold  up 
my  head  again." 

Whereupon  he  renewed  his  lamentations.  For  some 
time  I  listened  patiently,  and  from  his  disconnected 
remarks  I  gathered  that  he  had  gone  to  the  Cercle  Afri- 
cain  in  view  of  his  gigantic  combinations,  but  that  the 
demon  of  gambling  taking  possession  of  him  had  almost 
driven  them  from  his  mind.  Eventually  he  had  lost 
control  of  his  nerves,  a  cloud  had  spread  over  his  brain, 
and  he  had  committed  the  unspeakable  blunder  which 
led  to  disaster. 

"  To  think  that  I  should  have  tracked  him  down — 
for  this  !  "  he  exclaimed  tragically. 

"  What  beats  me,"  I  cried,  "  is  how  the  deuce  you 
managed  to  track  him  down.  Your  magnificent  intel- 
lect, I  suppose  " — I  spoke  gently  and  not  in  open 
sarcasm — "  enabled  you  to  get  on  the  trail." 

He  brightened  at  the  compliment.  "  Yes,  that  was 
it.  Listen.  I  came  to  Algiers,  the  last  place  he  was 
heard  of.  I  go  to  the  cafes.  I  listen  like  a  detective 
to  conversation.  I  creep  behind  soldiers  talking.  I 
find  out  nothing.  I  ask  at  the  shops.  They  think  I  am 
crazy,  but  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  has  a  brain  larger 
than  theirs.  I  go  to  my  old  friend  the  secretary  of  the 
theatre,  where  I  have  exhibited  the  marvellous  per- 
formance of  my  cats.  I  say  to  him,  '  When  have  you  a 
date  for  me  ?  '  He  says,  '  Next  year.'  I  make  a  note 
of  it.  We  talk.  He  knows  all  Algiers.  I  say  to  him, 
'  What    has    become   of    Captain  Vauvenarde    of  the 


i68  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Chasseurs  d'Afrique  ?  '  I  say  it  carelessly  as  if  the 
Captain  were  an  old  friend  of  mine.  The  secretary 
laughs.  Haven't  you  heard  ?  The  Captain  was  chased 
from  the  regiment 

"  The  deuce  he  was  !  "  I  interjected. 

"  On  account  of  something,"  said  Anastasius.  "  The 
secretary  could  not  tell  what.  Perhaps  he  cheated  at 
cards.     The  officers  said  so." 

"  '  Where  is  he  now  ?  '  I  ask.  '  Why,  in  Algiers.  He 
is  the  most  famous  gambler  in  the  town.  He  is  every 
night  at  the  Cercle  Africain,  and  some  people  believe 
that  it  belongs  to  him.'  My  friend  the  secretary  asks 
me  why  I  am  so  anxious  to  discover  Captain  Vau- 
venarde.  I  do  not  betray  my  secret.  When  I  do  not 
wish  to  talk  I  close  my  lips,  and  they  are  sealed  like  the 
tomb.  I  am  the  model  of  discretion.  You,  Monsieur, 
with  the  high-bred  delicacy  of  the  English  statesman, 
have  not  questioned  me  about  my  combination.  I 
appreciate  it.  But,  if  you  had,  though  it  broke  my 
heart,  I  should  not  have  answered." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  pry  into  your  schemes,"  I  said, 
"  but  there  are  one  or  two  things  I  must  understand.  How 
do  you  know  the  banker  was  Captain  Vauvenarde  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  several  times  in  Marseilles  with  the 
carissima  signora . ' ' 

"  Then  how  was  it  he  did  not  recognise  you  to- 
night ?  " 

"  I  was  then  but  an  acquaintance  of  Madame  ;  not 
her  intimate  friend,  counsellor,  champion,  as  I  am  now. 
I  did  not  have  the  honour  of  being  presented  to  Captain 
Vauvenarde.  I  went  to-night  to  make  sure  of  my  man, 
to  play  the  first  card  in  my  gigantic  combination — but, 
alas !  But  no  !  "  He  rose  and  thumped  his  little 
chest.     "  I  feel  my  courage  coming  back.     My  will  is 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  169 

stiffening  into  iron.     When  the  carissima  signora  arrives 
in  Algiers  she  will  find  she  has  a  champion  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  coming  to  Algiers  ?  "  I 
asked  startled. 

"  As  soon  as  I  learned  that  Captain  Vauvenarde  was 
here,"  he  replied  proudly,  "  I  sent  her  a  telegram, 
'  Husband  found ;  come  at  once.'  I  know  she  is 
coming,  for  she  has  not  answered." 

An  idea  occurred  to  me.  "  Did  you  sign  your  name 
and  address  on  the  telegram  ?  " 

He  approached  me  confidentially  as  I  sat,  and  wagged 
a  cunning  finger. 

"  In  matters  of  life  and  death,  never  give  your  name 
and  address." 

As  Professor  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  was  himself 
again,  and  as  I  began  to  sneeze — for  the  night  was  chilly 
— I  rose  and  suggested  that  we  might  adjourn  this  con- 
ference till  the  morrow.  He  acquiesced,  saying  that  all 
was  not  lost  and  that  he  still  had  time  to  mature  his 
combinations.  We  crossed  the  road,  and  I  hailed  a  cab 
standing  by  the  Cafe  d' Alger.  I  offered  Anastasius  to 
drive  him  to  his  hotel,  but  he  declined  politely.  We 
shook  hands. 

"  Monsieur,",  said  he,  "  I  have  to  make  my  heartfelt 
apologies  for  having  caused  you  so  painful,  so  useless, 
and  so  expensive  an  evening.  As  for  the  last  aspect  I 
will  repay  you." 

"  You  will  do  no  such  thing,  Professor,"  said  I.  "  My 
evening  has,  on  the  contrary,  been  particularly  useful 
and  instructive.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  the 
world." 

And  I  drove  off  homewards,  glad  to  be  in  my  own 
company. 

Here  was  an  imbrogUo  !     The  missing  husband  found 


170  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

and,  like  most  missing  husbands,  found  to  be  entirely 
undesirable.  And  Lola,  obviously  imagining  her 
summons  to  be  from  me,  was  at  that  moment  speeding 
hither  as  fast  as  the  Marechal  Bugeaud  could  carry  her. 
If  I  had  discovered  Captain  Vauvenarde  instead  of 
Anastasius  I  would  have  anathematised  him  as  the  most 
meddlesome,  crazy  little  marplot  that  ever  looked  like 
Napoleon  the  Third.  But  as  the  credit  of  the  discovery 
belonged  to  him  and  not  to  me,  I  could  only  anathema- 
tise myself  for  my  dilettantism  in  the  capacity  of  a 
private  inquiry  agent. 

I  went  to  bed  and  slept  badly.  The  ludicrous  scenes 
of  the  evening  danced  before  my  eyes  ;  the  smoke-filled, 
sordid  room,  the  ignoble  faces  round  the  table,  the 
foolish  hullaballoo,  the  collapse  of  Anastasius,  my  melo- 
dramatic intervention,  and  the  ironical  courtesy  of  the 
fleshy  Captain  Vauvenarde.  Also,  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  night,  Anastasius's  gigantic  combinations  assumed 
a  less  trivial  aspect.  What  lunatic  scheme  was  being 
hatched  behind  that  dome-hke  brow  ?  His  object  in 
taking  me  to  the  club  was  obvious.  He  could  not  have 
got  in  save  under  my  protection.  But  what  he  had 
reckoned  upon  doing  when  he  got  there  Heaven  and 
Anastasius  Papadopoulos  only  knew.  I  was  also 
worried  by  the  confounded  little  pain  inside. 

On  the  following  afternoon  I  went  down  to  meet  the 
steamer  from  Marseilles.  I  more  than  expected  to  find 
the  dwarf  on  the  quay,  but  to  my  relief  he  was  not 
there.  I  had  purposely  kept  my  knowledge  of  Lola's 
movements  a  secret  from  him,  as  I  desired  as  far  as 
possible  to  conduct  affairs  without  his  crazy  interven- 
tion. I  was  not  sorry,  too,  that  he  had  not  availed 
himself  of  my  proposal  to  visit  me  that  morning  and 
continue  our  conversation  of  the  night  before.     The 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  171 

grotesque  as  a  decoration  of  life  is  valuable  ;  as  the 
main  feature  it  gets  on  your  nerves. 

I  stood  on  the  sloping  stone  jetty  among  the  crowd 
of  Arab  porters  and  Europeans  and  watched  the  vessel 
waddle  in.  Lola  and  I,  catching  sight  of  each  other  at 
the  same  time,  waved  handkerchiefs  in  an  imbecile 
manner,  and  when  the  vessel  came  alongside,  and  during 
the  tedious  process  of  mooring,  we  regarded  each  other 
with  photographic  smiles.  She  was  wearing  a  squirrel 
coat  and  a  toque  of  the  same  fur,  and  she  looked  more 
like  a  splendid  wild  animal  than  ever.  Something  inside 
me — not  the  little  pain — but  what  must  have  been  my 
heart,  throbbed  suddenly  at  her  beauty,  and  the  throb 
was  followed  by  a  sudden  sense  of  shock  at  the  realisa- 
tion of  my  keen  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  her.  A  wistful 
radiance  shone  in  her  face  as  she  came  down  the  gang- 
way. 

"  Oh,  how  kind,  how  good,  how  splendid  of  you  to 
meet  me  !  "  she  cried  as  our  hands  clasped.  "  I  was 
dreading,  dreading,  dreading  that  it  might  be  some  one 
else." 

"  And  yet  you  came  straight  through,"  said  I,  still 
holding  her  hand — or,  rather,  allowing  hers  to  encircle 
mine  in  the  familiar  grip. 

"  Didn't  you  command  me  to  do  so  ?  " 

I  could  not  explain  matters  to  her  then  and  there 
among  the  hustle  of  passengers  and  the  bustle  of  porters. 
Besides,  Rogers,  who  had  come  down  with  the  hotel 
omnibus,  was  at  my  side  touching  his  hat. 

"  I  have  ordered  you  a  room  and  a  private  sitting- 
room  with  a  balcony  facing  the  sea.  Put  yourself  in 
charge  of  me  and  your  luggage  in  charge  of  Rogers  and 
dismiss  all  thoughts  of  worry  from  your  mind." 

"  You  are  so  restful,"  she  laughed  as  we  moved  off. 


172  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Then  she  scanned  my  face  and  said  falteringly,  "  How 
thin  and  worn  you  look  !     Are  you  worse  ?  " 

"  If  you  ask  me  such  questions,"  said  I,  "  I'll  leave 
you  with  the  luggage  in  charge  of  Rogers.  I  am  in 
resplendent  health." 

She  murmured  that  she  wished  she  could  beheve  me, 
and  took  my  arm  as  we  walked  down  the  jetty  to  the 
waiting  cab. 

"  It's  good  to  hear  your  voice  again,"  I  said.  "  It's 
a  lazy  voice  and  fits  in  with  the  lazy  South."  I  pointed 
to  the  burnous-enveloped  Arabs  sleeping  on  the  parapet. 
"  It's  out  of  place  in  Cadogan  Gardens." 

She  laughed  her  low,  ripphng  laugh.  It  was  music 
very  pleasant  to  hear  after  the  somewhat  shrill  cachin- 
nation  of  the  Misses  Bostock  of  South  Shields.  I  was  so 
pleased  that  I  gave  half  a  franc  to  a  pestilential  Arab 
shoeblack. 

"  That  was  nice  of  you,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  the  act  of  an  imbecile,"  I  retorted.  "  I  have 
now  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  enter  the  town 
again.     How  is  Dale  ?  " 

She  started.  "  He's  well.  Busy  with  his  election. 
I  saw  him  the  day  before  I  left.  I  didn't  tell  him  I  was 
coming  to  Algiers.     I  wrote  from  Paris." 

"  TelHng  him  the  reason  ?  " 

She  faced  me  and  met  my  eyes  and  said  shortly  • 

"No." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I. 

This  brought  us  to  the  cab.  We  entered  and  drove 
away.  Then  leaning  back  and  looking  straight  in  front 
of  her,  she  grasped  my  wrist  and  said  : 

"  Now,  my  dear  friend,  tell  me  all  and  get  it  over." 

"  My  dear  Madame  Brandt "  I  began. 

She  interrupted  me.     "  For  goodness'  sake  don't  call 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  173 

mc  that.     It  makes  a  cold  shiver  run  down  my  back. 
I'm  either  Lola  to  you  or  nothing." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Lola,"  said  I,  "  the  first  thing  I  must 
tell  you  is  that  I  did  not  send  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     The  telegram  ?  " 

"  It  was  sent  by  Anastasius  Papadopoulos." 

"  Anastasius  ?  "  She  bent  forward  and  looked  at 
me.     "  What  is  he  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  !  "  said  I.  "  But  what  he  has  done 
has  been  to  find  Captain  Vauvenarde.  I  am  glad  he 
has  done  that,  but  I  am  deeply  sorry  he  sent  you  the 
telegram." 

"  Sorry  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  Because  there  was  no  reason  for  your  coming,"  I 
said  with  unwonted  gravity.  "  It  would  have  been 
better  if  you  had  stayed  in  London,  and  it  will  be  best 
if  you  take  the  boat  back  again  to-morrow." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  while.  Then  she  said  in  a 
low  voice  : 

"  He  won't  have  me  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  been  asked,"  I  said.  "  He  will,  as  far  as 
I  can  command  the  situation,  never  be  asked." 

On  that  I  had  fully  determined  ;  and,  when  she 
inquired  the  reason,  I  told  her. 

"  I  proposed  that  you  should  reunite  yourself  with  an 
honourable  though  somewhat  misguided  gentleman. 
I've  had  the  reverse  of  pleasure  in  meeting  Captain 
Vauvenarde,  and  I  regret  to  say,  though  he  is  still 
misguided,  he  can  scarcely  be  termed  honourable.  The 
term  '  gentleman  '  has  still  to  be  accurately  defined." 

She  made  a  writhing  movement  of  impatience. 

"  TeU  me  straight  out  what  he's  doing  in  Algiers. 
You're  trying  to  make  things  easy  for  me.  It's  the  way 
of  your  class.     It  isn't  the  way  of  mine.     I'm  used  to 


174  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

brutality.  I  like  it  better.  Why  did  he  leave  the  army 
and  why  is  he  in  Algiers  ?  " 

"  If  you  prefer  the  direct  method,  my  dear  Lola," 
said  I — and  the  name  came  quite  trippingly  on  my 
tongue — "  I'll  employ  it.  Your  husband  has  appa- 
rently been  kicked  out  of  the  army  and  is  now  running 
a  gambling-hell." 

She  took  the  blow  bravely  ;  but  it  turned  her  face 
haggard  like  a  paroxysm  of  physical  pain.  After  a  few 
moments'  silence,  she  said  : 

"  It  must  have  been  awful  for  him.     He  was  a  proud 


man." 


"  He  is  changed,"  I  repHed  gently.  "  Pride  is  too 
hampering  a  quality  for  a  knight  of  industry  to  keep  in 
his  equipment." 

"  Tell  me  how  you  met  him,"  she  said. 

I  rapidly  sketched  the  whole  absurd  history,  from  my 
encounter  with  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  in  Marseilles 
to  my  parting  with  him  on  the  previous  night.  I 
softened  down,  as  much  as  I  could,  the  fleshiness  of 
Captain  Vauvenarde  and  the  rolls  of  fat  at  the  back  of 
his  neck,  but  I  portrayed  the  villainous  physiognomies 
of  his  associates  very  neatly.  I  concluded  by  repeating 
my  assertion  that  our  project  had  proved  itself  to  be 
abortive. 

"  He  must  be  pretty  miserable,"  said  Lola. 

"  Devil  a  bit,"  said  I. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  settled  herself  more  comfort- 
ably in  the  carriage  and  relapsed  into  mournful  silence. 
I,  having  said  my  say,  lit  a  cigarette.  Save  for  the 
clanging  past  of  an  upward  or  downward  tram,  the 
creeping  drive  up  the  hill  through  the  long  winding 
street  was  very  quiet ;  and  as  we  mounted  higher  and 
left  the  shops  behind,  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
afternoon  stillness  were  the  driver's  raucous  admonition 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  175 

to  his  horses  and  the  wind  in  the  trees  by  the  wayside. 
At  different  points  the  turns  of  the  road  brought  to  view 
the  panorama  of  the  town  below  and  the  calm  sweep  of 
the  bay. 

"  Exquisite,  isn't  it  ?  "  I  said  at  last,  with  an  indica- 
tive wave  of  the  hand. 

"  What's  the  good  of  anything  being  exquisite  when 
you  feel  mouldy  ?  " 

"  It  may  help  to  charm  away  the  mouldiness.  Beauty 
is  eternal  and  mouldiness  only  temporal.  The  sun  will 
go  on  shining  and  the  sea  will  go  on  changing  colour 
long  after  our  pains  and  joys  have  vanished  from 
the  world.  Nature  is  pitilessly  indifferent  to  human 
emotion." 

"  If  so,"  she  said,  her  intuition  finding  the  weakness 
of  my  slipshod  argument,  "  how  can  it  touch  human 
mouldiness  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I.  "  The  poets  will  tell  you. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  lie  on  the  breast  of  the  Great 
Mother  and  your  heartache  will  go  from  you.  I've 
never  tried  it  myself,  as  I've  never  been  afflicted  with 
heartache." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  she  asked,  woman-like  catching  at 
the  personal. 

I  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  I'm  glad  on  your  account,"  she  said  sincerely.  "  It's 
the  very  devil  of  an  ache.     I've  always  had  it." 

"  Poor  Lola,"  said  I,  prompted  by  my  acquired 
instinct  of  eumoiriety.     "  I  wish  I  could  cure  you." 

"  You  ?  "  She  gave  a  short  little  laugh  and  then 
turned  her  head  away. 

"  I  had  a  very  comfortable  crossing,"  she  remarked  a 
moment  later. 

I  gave  her  into  the  keeping  of  the  manager  of  the  hotel 
and  did  not  see  her  again  until  she  came  down  somewhat 


176  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

late  for  dinner.  I  met  her  in  the  vestibule.  She  wore 
a  closely  fitting  brown  dress,  which  in  colour  matched 
the  bronze  of  her  hair  and  in  shape  showed  off  her  lithe 
and  generous  figure. 

I  thought  it  my  duty  to  cheer  her  by  a  well-deserved 
compliment. 

"  Are  you  aware,"  I  said,  with  a  low  bow,  "  that 
you're  a  remarkably  handsome  woman  ?  " 

A  perfectly  unnecessary  light  came  into  her  eyes  and 
a  superfluous  flush  to  her  cheeks,  "  If  I'm  at  least  that 
to  you,  I'm  happy,"  she  said. 

"  You're  that  to  the  dullest  vision.  Follow  the 
maUre  d'hotel,"  said  I,  as  we  entered  the  salle  d  manger, 
"  and  rU  walk  behind  in  reflected  glory." 

We  made  an  effective  entrance.  I  declare  there  was 
a  perceptible  rattle  of  soup-spoons  laid  down  by  the 
retired  Colonels  and  maiden  ladies  as  we  passed  by. 
Colonel  Bunnion  returned  my  nod  of  greeting  in  the 
most  distracted  fashion  and  gazed  at  Lola  with  the 
frank  admiration  of  British  cavalry.  I  felt  foolishly 
proud  and  exhilarated,  and  gave  her  at  my  table  the 
seat  commanding  a  view  of  the  room.  I  then  ordered 
a  bottle  of  champagne,  which  I  am  forbidden  to  touch. 

"  It  isn't  often  that  I  have  the  pleasure  of  dining  with 
you,"  I  said  by  way  of  apology. 

"  This  is  the  very  first  time,"  she  said. 

"  And  it's  not  going  to  be  the  last,"  I  declared. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  ship  me  back  to 
Marseilles  to-morrow." 

She  laughed  lazUy,  meeting  my  eyes.     I  smiled. 

"  It  would  be  inhuman.  I  allow  you  a  few  days' 
rest." 

Indeed,  now  she  was  here  I  had  a  curious  desire  to 
keep  her.  I  regarded  the  failure  of  my  eumoirous  little 
plans  with  more  thar   satisfaction      I   had   done  my 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  177 

best.  I  had  found  (through  the  dwarf's  agency)  Cap- 
tam  Vauvenarde.  I  had  satisfied  myself  that  he  was  an 
outrageous  person  thoroughly  disqualified  from  be- 
coming Lola's  husband,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the 
matter.  Meanwhile  Fate  (again  through  the  agency  of 
Anastasius)  had  brought  her  many  hundreds  of  miles 
away  from  Dale  and  had  moreover  brought  her  to  me. 
I  was  delighted.  I  patted  Destiny  on  the  back,  and 
drank  his  health  in  excellent  Pommery.  Lola  did  not 
know  in  the  least  what  I  meant,  but  she  smiled  amiably 
and  drank  the  toast.  It  was  quite  a  merry  dinner. 
Lola  threw  herself  into  my  mood  and  jested  as  if  she  had 
never  heard  of  an  undesirable  husband  who  had  been 
kicked  out  of  the  French  army.  We  talked  of  many 
things.  I  described  in  fuller  detail  my  adventure  with 
Anastasius  and  Saupiquet,  and  we  laughed  over  the 
debt  of  fifteen  sous  and  the  elaborate  receipt. 

"  Anastasius,"  she  said,  "  is  childish  in  many  ways — 
the  doctors  have  a  name  for  it." 

"  Arrested  development." 

"  That's  it  ;  but  he  is  absolutely  cracked  on  one  point 
— the  poisoning  of  my  horse  Sultan.  He  has  reams  of 
paper  which  he  calls  the  dossier  of  the  crime.  You 
never  saw  such  a  collection  of  rubbish  in  your  life.  I 
cried  over  it.  And  he  is  so  proud  of  it,  poor  wee  mite." 
She  laughed  suddenly.  "  I  should  love  to  have  seen 
you  hobnobbing  with  him  and  Saupiquet." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You're  so  aristocratic-looking,"  she  did  me  the  em- 
barrassing honour  to  explain  in  her  direct  fashion. 
"  You're  my  idea  of  an  English  duke." 

"  My  dear  Lola,"  I  replied,  "  you're  quite  wrong. 
The  ordinary  English  duke  is  a  stout,  middle-aged 
gentleman  with  a  beard,  and  he  generally  wears  thick 
knickerbockers  and  shocking  bad  hats." 

M 


178  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Do  you  know  any  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three,"  I  admitted. 

"  And  duchesses,  too  ?  " 

I  again  pleaded  guilty.  In  these  democratic  days,  if 
one  is  engaged  in  public  and  social  affairs  one  can't  help 
running  up  against  them.     It  is  their  fault,  not  mine. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  them,"  said  Lola,  with  her  elbows 
on  the  table. 

I  told  her. 

"  And  are  earls^and  countesses  just  the  same  ?  "  she 
asked  with  a  disappointed  air. 

"  Just  the  same,"  I  sighed,  "  only  worse.  They're  so 
ordinary  that  you  can't  pick  them  out  from  common 
misters  and  missuses." 

Saying  this  I  rose,  for  we  had  finished  our  dessert,  and 
proposed  coffee  in  the  lounge.  There  we  found  Colonel 
Bunnion  at  so  wilful  a  loose  end  that  I  could  not  find  it 
in  my  heart  to  refuse  him  an  introduction  to  Lola.  He 
manifested  his  delight  by  lifting  the  skirt  of  his  dinner- 
jacket  with  his  hands  and  rising  on  his  spurs  like  a 
bantam  cock.  I  left  her  to  him  for  a  moment  and  went 
over  to  say  a  civil  word  to  the  Misses  Bostock  of  South 
Shields.  I  regret  to  say  I  noticed  a  certain  frigidity  in 
their  demeanour.  The  well-conducted  man  in  South 
Shields  does  not  go  out  one  night  with  a  revolver  tucked 
away  in  the  pocket  of  his  dress-suit,  and  turn  up  the 
next  evening  with  a  striking-looking  lady  with  bronze 
hair.  Such  goings-on  are  seen  on  the  stage  in  South 
Shields  in  melodrama,  and  they  are  the  goings-on  of  the 
villain.  In  the  eyes  of  the  gentle  ladies  my  reputation 
was  gone.  I  was  trying  to  rehabilitate  myself  when  the 
chasseur  brought  me  a  telegram.  I  asked  permission 
to  open  it,  and  stepped  aside. 

The  words  of  the  telegram  .were  like  a  ringing  box  on 
the  ears. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  179 

"  Tell  me  immediately  why  Lola  has  joined  you  in 
Algiers. — Kynnersley." 

Not  "  Dale,"  mark  you,  as  he  has  signed  himself  ever 
since  I  knew  him  in  Eton  collars,  but  "  Kynnersley." 
Why  has  Lola  joined  you  ?  Why  have  you  run  off  with 
Lola  ?  What's  the  reason  of  this  treacherous  abduc- 
tion ?  Account  for  yourself  immediately.  Stand  and 
deliver.  I  stood  there  gaping  at  the  words  like  an  idiot, 
my  blood  tingling  at  the  implied  accusation.  The 
peremptoriness  of  it !  The  impudence  of  the  boy  !  The 
wild  extravagance  of  the  idea  !  And  yet,  while  my 
head  was  reeling  with  one  buffet  a  memory  arose  and 
gave  me  another  on  the  other  side.  I  remembered  the 
preposterous  attitude  in  which  Dale  had  found  us  when 
he  rushed  from  Berlin  into  Lola's  drawing-room. 

I  took  the  confounded  telegram  into  a  remote  corner  of 
the  lounge,  like  a  dog  with  a  bone,  and  growled  over 
it  for  a  time  until  the  humour  of  the  situation  turned  the 
growl  into  a  chuckle.  Even  had  I  been  in  sound  health 
and  strength,  the  idea  of  running  off  with  Lola  would 
have  been  absurd.  But  for  me,  in  my  present  eumoirous 
disposition  of  mind  ;  for  me,  a  half-disembodied  spirit 
who  had  cast  all  vain  and  disturbing  human  emotions 
into  the  mud  of  Murglebed-on-Sea ;  for  me  who  had  a 
spirit's  calm  disregard  for  the  petty  passions  and  in- 
terests of  mankind  and  walked  through  the  world  with 
no  other  object  than  healing  a  few  human  woes  ;  for  me 
who  already  saw  death  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  and 
found  serious  occupation  in  exchanging  airy  badinage 
with  him  ;  for  me  with  an  abominable  little  pain  inside 
inexorably  eating  my  life  out  and  wasting  me  away 
literally  and  perceptibly  like  a  shadow  and  twisting  me 
up  half  a  dozen  times  a  day  in  excruciating  agony  ;  for 
me,  in  this  delectable  condition  of  soul  and  this  deplor- 
able condition  of  body,  to  think  of  running  hundreds  of 


i8o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

miles  from  home  away  with — to  sa}^  the  least  of  it — so 
inconvenient  a  creature  as  a  big,  bronze-haired  woman, 
the  idea  was  inexpressibly  and  weirdly  comic. 

I  stepped  into  the  drawing-room  close  by  and  drew  up 
a  telegram  to  Dale. 

"  Lady  summoned  by  Papadopoulos  on  private  affairs. 
Avoid  lunacy  save  for  electioneering  purposes. — Simon." 

Then  I  joined  Lola  and  Colonel  Bunnion.  She  was 
lying  back  in  her  laziest  and  most  pantherine  attitude, 
and  she  looked  up  at  me  as  I  approached  with  eyes  full 
of  velvet  softness.  For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help 
feeling  glad  that  they  were  turned  on  me  and  not  on 
Dale  Kynnersley. 

Almost  immediately  the  elder  Miss  Bostock  came  up 
to  claim  the  Colonel  for  bridge.     He  rose  reluctantly, 

"  I  suppose  it's  no  use  asking  you  to  make  a  fourth, 
Mr.  de  Gex  ?  "  she  asked,  after  the  subacid  manner  of 
her  kind. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  I  replied  sweetly.  Whereupon  she 
rescued  the  Colonel  from  the  syren  and  left  me  alone 
with  her.  I  lit  a  cigarette  and  sat  by  her  side.  As  she 
did  not  stir  or  speak,  I  asked  whether  she  was  tired. 

"  Not  very.  I'm  thinking.  Do  you  know  you've 
taught  me  an  awful  lot  ?  " 

"  I  ?     What  can  I  have  taught  you  ?  " 

"  The  way  people  like  yourself  look  at  things.  I'm 
treating  Dale  abominabl}^     I  didn't  realise  it  before." 

Now  why  on  earth  did  she  bring  Dale  in  just  at  that 
moment. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  I. 

She  nodded  her  head  and  said  in  her  languorous  voice : 

"  He's  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  me  and  thinks 
I  care  for  him.  I  don't.  I  don't  care  a  brass  button  for 
him.  I'm  a  bad  influence  in  his  life,  and  the  sooner  I  take 
myself  out  of  it  the  better.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  i8i 

"  You  know  my  opinions,"  I  said. 

"  If  I  had  followed  your  advice  at  first,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  we  needn't  have  had  all  this  commotion. 
And  yet  I'm  not  sorry." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Before  deciding,  I  shall  see  my  husband." 

"  You  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  said  I. 

She  smiled.     "  I  shall." 

I  protested.  Captain  Vauvenarde  had  put  himself 
outside  the  pale.  He  was  not  fit  to  associate  with  decent 
women.     What  object  could  she  have  in  meeting  him? 

"  I  want  to  judge  for  myself,"  she  replied. 

"  Judge  what  ?  Surely  not  whether  he  is  eligible  as 
a  husband  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  But,  my  dear  Lola,"  I  cried,  "  the  notion  is  as 
crazy  as  any  of  Anastasius  Papadopoulos's.  Of  course, 
as  soon  as  he  learns  you're  a  rich  woman,  he'll  want  to 
live  with  you,  and  use  your  money  for  his  gaming-hell." 

"  I  am  going  to  meet  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"I  forbid  it." 

"  You're  too  late,  dear  friend.  I  wTote  him  a  letter 
before  dinner  and  sent  it  to  the  Cercle  Africain  by 
special  messenger.  I  also  wrote  to  Anastasius.  I 
asked  them  both  to  see  me  to-morrow  morning.  That's 
why  I've  been  so  gay  this  evening." 

At  the  sight  of  my  blank  face  she  laughed,  and  with 
one  of  her  lithe  movements  rose  from  her  chair.  I  rose 
too. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  had  walked  out  of  a  nightmare,"  I  said. 
"  I  find  I'm  still  in  it." 

"  But  don't  be  angry  with  me.  It  was  the  only  way." 

"  The  only  way  to,  or  out  of,  what  ?  "  I  asked,  be- 
wildered 


i82  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Never  mind." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  singular  expression  in  her 
slumberous  eyes.  It  was  sad,  wistful,  soothing,  and 
gave  me  the  idea  of  a  noble  woman  making  a  senseless 
sacrifice. 

"  There  is  no  earthly  reason  to  do  this  on  account  of 
Dale,"  I  protested. 

"  Dale  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 
"Then  who  has?" 

"  Anastasius  Papadopoulos,"  she  said  with  undis- 
guised irony. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said  rather  stiffly,  "  for 
appearing  to  force  your  confidence.  But  as  I  first  put 
the  idea  of  joining  your  husband  into  your  head  and 
have  enjoyed  your  confidence  in  the  matter  hitherto,  I 
thought  I  might  claim  certain  privileges." 

As  she  had  done  before,  she  laid  her  hands  on  my 
shoulders — we  were  alone  in  the  alcove — and  looked  me 
in  the  eyes. 

"  Don't  make  me  cry.     I'm  very  near  it.     And  I'm 
tired  to-night,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a  hellish  time 
to-morrow.     And  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favour." 
"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  When  I'm  seeing  my  husband,  I'd  like  to  know  that 
you  were  within  call — in  case  I  wanted  you.  One  never 
knows  what  may  happen.  You  wiU  come,  won't  you, 
if  I  send  for  you  ?  " 

"I'm  always  at  your  service,"  I  said. 
She  released  my  shoulders  and  grasped  my  hand. 
"  Good  night,"  she  said  abruptly,  and  rushed  swiftly 
out  of  the  room,  leaving  me  wondering  more  than  I  had 
ever  wondered  in  my  life  at  the  inscrutable  ways  of 
women. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

I  AM  glad  I  devoted  last  night  and  the  past  hour  this 
morning  to  bringing  up  to  date  this  trivial  record,  for  I 
have  a  premonition  that  the  time  is  rapidly  approaching 
when  I  shall  no  longer  have  the  strength  of  will  or  body 
to  continue  it.  The  little  pain  has  increased  in  intensity 
and  frequency  the  last  few  days,  and  though  I  try  to 
delude  myself  into  the  belief  that  otherwise  I  am  as 
strong  as  ever,  I  know  in  my  heart  that  I  am  daily  grow- 
ing weaker,  daily  losing  vitality.  I  shall  soon  have  to 
call  in  a  doctor  to  give  me  some  temporary  relief,  and 
doubtless  he  will  put  me  to  bed,  feed  me  on  slops,  cut 
off  alcohol,  forbid  noise  and  excitement,  and  keep  me  in 
a  drugged,  stupefied  condition  until  I  fall  asleep,  to 
wake  up  in  the  Garden  of  Prosperine.  Death  is 
nothing  ;  it  is  dying  that  is  such  a  nuisance.  It  is 
going  through  so  much  for  so  little.  It  is  as  bad  as  the 
campaign  before  a  parliamentary  election.  It  offends 
one's  sense  of  proportion.  In  a  well-regulated  universe 
there  would  be  no  tedious  process  of  decay,  either  be- 
fore or  after  death.  You  would  go  about  your  daily 
avocation  unconcerned  and  unwarned,  and  then  at  the 
moment  appointed  by  an  inscrutable  Providence  for 
your  dissolution — phew  ! — and  your  clothes  would 
remain  standing  for  a  surprised  second,  and  then  fall 
down  in  a  heap  without  a  particle  of  you  inside  them. 
If  we  have  to  die,  why  doesn't  Providence  employ  this 
simple  and  sensible  method  ?     It  would  save  such  a  lot 

183 


1 84  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

of  trouble.  It  would  be  so  clean,  so  painless,  so  pictu- 
resque. It  would  add  to  the  interest  of  our  walks 
abroad.  Fancy  a  stout,  important  policeman  vanishing 
from  his  uniform — the  helmet  falling  over  the  collar, 
the  tunic  doubling  in  at  the  belt,  the  knees  giving  way, 
and  the  unheard,  merry  laughter  of  the  disenuniformed 
spirit  winging  its  way  truncheonless  into  the  Empyrean. 

But  if  you  think  you  are  going  to  get  any  fun  out  of 
dying  in  the  present  inconvenient  manner,  you  are  mis- 
taken.    Believe  one  who  is  trying. 

I  will  remain  on  my  feet,  however,  as  long  as  my  will 
holds  out.  In  this  way  I  may  continue  to  be  of  service 
to  my  fellow-creatures,  and  procure  for  myself  a  happy 
lot  or  portion.  Even  this  morning  I  have  been  able  to 
feel  the  throb  of  eumoiriety.  A  piteous  letter  came  from 
Latimer,  and  a  substantial  cheque  lies  on  my  table 
ready  to  be  posted.  I  wonder  how  much  I  have  left  ? 
So  long  as  it  is  enough  to  pay  my  doctor's  bills  and 
funeral  expenses,  what  does  it  matter  ? 

The  last  line  of  the  above  was  written  on  December 
2ist.  It  is  now  January  30th,  and  I  am  still  alive  and 
able  to  write.  I  wish  I  weren't.  But  I  will  set  down  as 
plainly  as  I  can  what  has  happened  in  the  interval. 

I  had  just  written  the  last  word,  seated  at  my  hotel 
window  in  the  sunshine,  and  enjoying,  in  spite  of  my  un- 
cheerful  thoughts,  the  scents  that  rose  from  the  garden, 
when  I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door.  At  my  invitation 
to  enter,  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  trotted  into  the 
room  in  a  great  state  of  excitement  carrying  the  familiar 
bunch  of  papers.  He  put  his  hat  on  the  floor,  pitched 
the  papers  into  the  hat,  and  ran  up  to  me. 

"i'My  dear  sir,  don't  get  up,  I  implore  you.  And  I 
won't  sit  down.  I  have  just  seen  the  ever  beautiful  and 
beloved  lady." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  185 

I  turned  my  chair  away  from  the  table,  and  faced  him 
as  he  stood  blowing  kisses  with  one  little  hand,  while  the 
other  lay  on  his  heart.  In  a  flash  he  struck  a  new 
gesture  ;  he  folded  his  arais  and  scowled, 

"  I  was  with  her.  She  was  opening  her  inmost  heart 
to  me.  She  knows  I  am  her  champion.  A  servant 
came  up  announcing  Monsieur  Vauvenarde.  She  dis- 
missed me.  I  have  come  to  my  patron  and  friend, 
the  English  statesman.  Her  husband  is  with  her 
now." 

I  smiled.  "  Madame  Brandt  told  me  that  she  had 
asked  for  an  interview." 

"  And  you  allow  it  ?  You  allow  her  to  contaminate 
her  beautiful  presence  with  the  sight  of  that  traitor,  that 
cheat  at  cards,  that  murderer,  that  devil  ?  Ah,  but  I 
will  not  have  it !  I  am  her  champion.  I  will  save  her. 
I  will  save  you.  I  will  take  you  both  away  to  Egypt, 
and  surround  you  with  my  beautiful  cats,  and  fan  you 
with  peacock's  feathers." 

This  was  sheer  crackedness  of  brain.  For  the  first 
time  I  feared  for  the  little  man.  When  people  begin  to 
talk  that  way  they  are  not  allowed  to  go  about  loose. 
He  went  on  talking,  and  the  three  languages  he  used  in 
his  jargon  got  clotted  to  the  point  of  unintelligibility. 
He  spoke  very  fast  and,  as  far  as  I  could  understand, 
poured  abuse  on  the  head  of  Captain  Vauvenarde,  and 
continued  to  declare  himself  Lola's  champion  and  my 
devoted  friend.  He  stamped  up  and  down  the  room  in 
his  tightly  buttoned  frock-coat  from  the  breast-pocket 
of  which  peeped  the  fingers  of  his  yellow  doeskin  gloves. 
At  last  he  stopped,  and  drawing  a  chair  near  the  window 
perched  on  it  with  a  little  hop  like  a  child.  He  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  believe  I  am  your  friend  ?  " 
"  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  dear  Professor." 


1 86  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Then  I'll  betray  a  sacred  confidence.  The  caris- 
sima  signora  loves  you.  You  didn't  know  it.  But  she 
loves  you." 

I  stared  for  a  moment  at  the  dwarf  as  if  he  had  been 
a  reasonable  being.  Something  seemed  to  click  inside 
my  head,  like  a  clogged  cog-wheel  that  had  suddenly 
freed  itself,  and  my  mind  went  whirring  away  straight 
through  the  past  few  weeks.  I  tried  to  smile,  and  I 
said  : 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken." 

"  Oh  no,"  he  replied,  wagging  his  Napoleonic  head. 
"  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  is  never  mistaken.  She 
told  me  so  herself.  She  wept.  She  put  her  beautiful 
arms  round  my  neck  and  sobbed  on  my  shoulder." 

I  found  myself  reproving  him  gently.  "  You  should 
not  have  told  me  this,  my  dear  Professor.  Such  con- 
fidences are  locked  up  in  the  heart  of  un  galant  homme, 
and  are  not  revealed  even  to  his  dearest  friend." 

But  my  voice  sounded  hollow  in  my  own  ears,  and 
what  he  said  for  the  next  few  minutes  I  do  not  re- 
member. The  little  man  had  told  the  truth  to  me,  and 
Lola  had  told  the  truth  to  him.  The  realisation  of  it 
paralysed  me.  Why  had  I  been  such  a  fool  as  not  to 
see  it  for  myself  ?  Memories  of  a  hundred  indications 
came  tumbling  one  after  another  into  my  head — the 
forgotten  glove,  the  glances,  the  changes  of  mood,  the 
tears  when  she  learned  of  my  illness,  the  mysterious 
words,  the  abrupt  little  "  You  ?  "  of  yesterday.  The 
woman  was  in  love,  deeply  in  love,  in  love  with  all  the 
fervour  of  her  big  nature.  And  I  had  stood  by  and 
wondered  what  she  meant  by  this  and  by  that — things 
that  would  have  been  obvious  to  a  coalheaver.  I 
thought  of  Dale  and  I  felt  miserably  guilty,  horribly 
ashamed.     How  could  I  expect  him  to  believe  me  when 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  187 

I  told  him  that  I  had  not  wittingly  stolen  her  affections 
from  him.  And  her  affections  ?  Bon  Dicu !  What 
on  earth  could  I  do  with  them  ?  What  is  the  use  of  a 
woman's  love  to  a  dead  man  ?  And  did  I  want  it  even 
for  the  tiny  remainder  of  life  ? 

Anastasius,  perceiving  that  I  paid  but  scant  atten- 
tion to  his  conversation,  wriggled  off  his  chair  and  stood 
before  me  with  folded  arms. 

"  You  adore  each  other  with  a  great  passion,"  he  said. 
"  She  is  my  Madonna,  and  you  are  my  friend  and  bene- 
factor. I  will  be  your  protection  and  defence.  I  will 
never  let  her  go  away  with  that  infamous,  gambling, 
and  murdering  scoundrel.  My  gigantic  combinations 
have  matured.     I  bless  your  union." 

He  lifted  his  little  arms  in  benediction.  The  situation 
was  cruelly  comical.  For  a  moment  I  hated  the  moum- 
ful-visaged,  posturing  monkey,  and  had  a  wild  desire  to 
throw  him  out  of  the  window  and  have  done  with  him. 
I  rose  and,  towering  over  him,  was  about  to  lecture  him 
severely  on  his  impertinent  interference,  when  the  sight 
of  his  sacred  face  made  me  turn  away  with  a  laugh. 
What  would  be  the  use  of  reproaching  him  ?  He 
would  only  sit  down  on  the  floor  and  weep.  So  I  paced 
the  room,  while  he  followed  me  with  his  eyes  like  an  un- 
certain spaniel. 

"  Look  here,  Professor,"  said  I  at  last.  "  Now  that 
you've  found  Captain  Vauvenarde,  brought  Madame 
Brandt  and  him  together,  and  told  me  that  she  is  in  love 
with  me,  don't  you  think  you've  done  enough  ?  Don't 
you  think  your  cats  need  your  attention  ?  Something 
terrible  may  be  happening  to  them.  I  dreamed  last 
night,"  I  added  with  desperate  mendacity,  "  that  they 
were  turned  into  woolly  lambs."  |)t|j 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  dwarf  loftily,    "  my  duty  is 


i88  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

here.     J'y  suis,  j'y  rcste  !     And  I  care  not  whether  my 
cats  are  turned  into  the  angels  of  Paradise." 

I  groaned.  "  You  are  wasting  a  great  deal  of  money- 
over  this  affair,"  I  urged. 

"  What  is  money  to  my  gigantic  combinations  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,"  I  cried  with  considerable  impatience. 
"  What  are  your  confounded  combinations  ?  " 

He  began  to  tremble  violently.  "  I  would  rather 
die,"  said  he,  "  than  betray  my  secret." 

"It's  all  some  silly  nonsense  about  that  wretched 
horse  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

He  covered  his  ears  with  his  hands.  "  Blasphemy  ! 
Blasphemy  !     Don't  utter  it !  " 

In  another  moment  he  was  cowering  on  his  knees 
before  me. 

"  You,  of  all  men,  mustn't  blaspheme.  You  whom  I 
love  like  my  master.  You  whom  the  divine  lady  loves. 
I  can't  bear  it !  "  He  continued  to  gibber  unintel- 
ligibly. 

He  was  stark  mad.  There  was  no  question  of  it. 
For  a  moment  I  stood  irresolute.  Then  I  lifted  him  to 
his  feet  and  patted  his  head  soothingly. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I.  "  I  was  wrong.  It  was  a 
beautiful  horse.  There  never  was  such  a  horse  in  the 
world.  If  I  had  a  picture  of  him  I  would  hang  it  up  on 
the  wall  over  my  bed." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  he  cried  joyfully.  "  Then  I  will  give 
you  one." 

He  trotted  over  to  the  bundle  of  papers  that  reposed 
in  his  hat  on  the  floor,  searched  through  them,  and  to 
my  dismay  handed  me  a  faded,  unmounted,  and  rather 
torn  and  crumpled  photograph  of  the  wonderful  horse. 

"  There  !  "  said  he. 

"  I  could  not  rob  you  of  it,"  I  protested. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  189 

"It  will  be  my  joy  to  know  that  you  have  it — that 
it  is  hanging  over  your  bed.  See — have  you  a  pin  ? 
I  myself  will  lix  it  for  you." 

While  he  was  searching  my  table  for  pins  the  chasseur 
of  the  hotel  came  with  a  message  from  Madame  Brandt. 
Would  Monsieur  come  at  once  to  Madame  in  her  private 
room  ? 

"  I'll  come  now,"  I  said.  "  Professor,  you  must  ex- 
cuse me." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  shall  occupy 
myself  in  hanging  the  picture  in  the  most  artistic  way 
possible." 

So  I  left  him,  his  mind  apparently  concentrated  on 
the  childish  task  of  pinning  the  photograph  of  the 
ridiculous  horse  on  my  bedroom  wall,  and  went  with  the 
most  complicated  feelings  downstairs  and  through  the 
corridors  to  Lola's  apartments. 

She  rose  to  meet  me  as  I  entered. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  she  said  in  her 
fluent  but  Britannic  French.  "  May  I  present  my 
husband,  Monsieur  Vauvenarde." 

Monsieur  Vauvenarde  and  I  exchanged  bows.  I 
noticed  at  once  that  he  wore  the  Frenchman's  costume 
when  he  pays  a  visite  de  ceremonie,  frock-coat  and 
gloves,  and  that  a  silk  hat  lay  on  the  table.  I  was  glad 
that  he  paid  her  this  mark  of  respect. 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  before. 
Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  in  circumstances  somewhat 
different." 

"  I  remember  perfectly,"  said  I. 

"  And  your  charming  but  inexperienced  little  friend 
— is  he  well  ?  " 

"He  is  at  present  decorating  my  room  with  photo- 
graphs of  Madame's  late  horse.  Sultan,"  said  I. 


190  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

He  was  startled,  and  gave  me  a  quick,  sharp  look. 
I  did  not  notice  it  at  the  time,  but  I  remembered  it  later. 
Then  he  broke  into  an  indulgent  laugh. 

"  The  poor  animal  !  "  He  turned  to  Lola.  "  How 
jealous  I  used  to  be  of  him  !  And  how  quickly  the  time 
flies.  But  give  yourself  the  trouble  of  seating  yourself. 
Monsieur." 

He  motioned  me  to  a  chair  and  sat  down.  He  was  a 
man  of  polished  manners  and  had  a  pleasant  voice.  I 
guessed  that  in  the  days  when  he  paid  court  to  Lola,  he 
had  been  handsome  in  his  dark  Norman  way,  and 
possessed  considerable  fascination.  Evil  living  and 
sordid  passions  had  coarsened  his  features,  produced 
bagginess  under  the  eyes  and  a  shiftiness  of  glance. 
Idleness  and  an  inverted  habit  of  life  were  responsible 
for  the  nascent  paunch  and  the  rolls  of  fat  at  the  back 
of  his  neck.  He  suggested  the  revivified  corpse  of  a 
fine  gentleman  that  had  been  unnaturally  swoUen.  I 
had  disliked  him  at  the  Cercle  Africain  ;  now  I  detested 
him  heartily.  The  idea  of  Lola  entering  the  vitiated 
atmosphere  of  his  life  was  inexpressibly  repugnant  to  me. 

Contrary  to  her  habit,  Lola  sat  bolt  upright  on  the 
stamped-velvet-covered  sofa  which  formed  part  of  the 
stiff  French  suite,  the  palms  of  her  hands  pressing  the 
seat  on  either  side  of  her.  She  caught  the  shade  of 
disgust  that  swept  over  my  face,  and  gave  me  a  quick 
glance  that  pleaded  for  toleration.  Her  eyes,  though 
bright,  were  sunken,  like  those  of  a  woman  who  has  not 
slept. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Vauvenarde,  "  my  wife  informs  me 
that  to  your  disinterested  friendship  is  due  this  most 
charming  reconciliation." 

"  Reconcihation  ?  "  I  echoed.  "  It  was  quickly 
effected." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  191 

"  Mon  Dieu,  yes,"  he  said.  "  I  have  always  longed 
for  the  comforts  of  a  home.  My  wife  has  grown  tired 
of  a  migratory  existence.  She  comes  to  find  me,  I 
hasten  to  meet  her.  There  is  nothing  to  keep  us  apart. 
The  reconcihation  was  a  matter  of  a  few  seconds.  I 
wish  to  express  my  gratitude  to  you,  and,  therefore, 
I  ask  you  to  accept  my  most  cordial  thanks." 

*'  It  has  always  been  a  pleasure  to  me,"  said  I  very 
frigidly,  "  to  place  my  services  at  the  disposal  of 
Madame  Brandt." 

"  Vauvenarde,  Monsieur,"  he  corrected  with  a  smile. 

"  And  is  Madame  Vauvenarde  equally  satisfied  with 
the — reconciliation  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  Monsieur  Vauvenarde  is  somewhat  prema- 
ture," said  Lola,  with  a  trembUng  hp.  "  There  were 
conditions " 

"  A  mere  question  of  protocol."  He  waved  an  airy 
hand. 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  is,"  said  Lola.  "  There  are 
conditions  I  must  fix,  and  I  thought  the  advice  of  my 
friend.  Monsieur  de  Gex " 

"  Precisely,  my  dear  Lola,"  he  interrupted.  "  The 
principle  is  affirmed.  We  are  reconciled.  I  proceed 
logically.  The  first  thing  I  do  is  to  thank  Monsieur  de 
Gex — you  have  a  French  name.  Monsieur,  and  you  pro- 
nounce it  English  fashion,  which  is  somewhat  embarrass- 
ing   But  no  matter.  The  next  thing  is  the  pro- 
tocol. We  have  no  possibility  of  calHng  a  family 
council,  and  therefore  I  acceded  wuth  pleasure  to  the 
intervention  of  Monsieur.  It  is  kind  of  him  to  burden 
himself  with  our  unimportant  affairs." 

The  irony  of  his  tone  belied  the  suave  correctitude  of 
his  words.  I  detested  him  more  and  more.  More  and 
more  did  I  realise  that  the  dying  eumoirist  is  capable  of 


192  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

petty  human  passions.  My  vanity  was  being  scarified. 
Here  was  a  woman  passionately  in  love  with  me  pro- 
posing to  throw  herself  into  another  man's  arms — it 
made  not  a  scrap  of  difference,  in  the  circumstances, 
that  the  man  was  her  husband — and  into  the  arms  of 
such  a  man  !  Having  known  me  to  decline — et  cetera, 
et  cetera  !  How  could  she  face  it  ?  And  why  was  she 
doing  it  ?  To  save  herself  from  me,  or  me  from  her- 
self ?  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  httle  pain 
inside  would  precious  soon  settle  that  question.  Why 
was  she  doing  it  ?  I  should  have  thought  that  the  first 
glance  at  the  puffy  reprobate  would  have  been  enough 
to  show  her  the  folly  of  her  idea.  However,  it  was  com- 
forting to  learn  that  she  had  not  surrendered  at  once. 

"  If  I  am  to  have  the  privilege.  Monsieur,"  said  I,  "  of 
acting  as  a  family  council,  perhaps  you  may  forgive  my 
hinting  at  some  of  the  conditions  that  doubtless  are  in 
Madame's  mind." 

"  Proceed,  Monsieur,"  said  he. 

"  I  want  to  know  where  I  am,"  said  Lola,  in  Enghsh. 
"  He  took  everything  for  granted  from  the  first." 

"  Are  you  wilhng  to  go  back  to  him  ?  "  I  asked  also  in 
English. 

She  met  my  gaze  steadily,  and  I  saw  a  woman's  need- 
less pain  at  the  back  of  her  eyes.  She  moistened  her  lips 
with  her  tongue,  and  said  : 

"  Under  conditions." 

"Monsieur,"  said  I  in  French,  turning  to  Vauvenarde, 
"  forgive  us  for  speaking  our  language." 

"  Perfectly,"  said  he,  and  he  smiled  meaningly  and 
banteringly  at  us  both. 

"  In  the  first  place,  Monsieur,  you  are  aware  that 
Madame  has  a  little  fortune,  which  does  not  detract 
from  the  charm  you  have  always  found  in  her.     It  was 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  193 

left  her  by  her  father,  whom,  as  you  know,  tamed  hons 
and  directed  a  menagerie.  I  would  propose  that  Madame 
appointed  trustees  to  administer  this  little  fortune," 

"  There  is  no  necessity,  Monsieur,"  he  said.  "  By 
the  law  of  France  it  is  hers  to  do  what  she  likes  with." 

"  Precisely,"  I  rejoined.  "  Trustees  would  prevent 
her  from  doing  what  she  liked  with  it.  Madame  has 
indeed  a  head  for  affairs,  but  she  also  has  a  woman's 
heart,  which  sometimes  interferes  with  a  woman's  head 
in  the  most  disastrous  manner." 

"  Article  No.  i  of  the  protocol.  Allez  toujour s, 
Monsieur." 

I  went  on,  feeling  happier.  "  The  next  article  treats 
of  a  little  matter  which  I  understand  has  been  the  cause 
of  differences  in  the  past  between  Madame  and  yourself. 
Madame,  although  she  has  not  entered  the  arena  for 
some  time,  has  not  finally  abandoned  it."  I  smiled  at 
the  look  of  surprise  on  Lola's  face.  "  An  artist  is 
always  an  artist.  Monsieur.  She  is  willing,  however,  to 
renounce  it  for  ever,  if  you,  on  your  side,  will  make  quite 
a  small  sacrifice." 

"  Name  it.  Monsieur." 

"  You  have  a  little  passion  for  baccarat " 

"  Surely,  Monsieur,"  said  he  blandly,  "  my  wife 
would  not  expect  me  to  give  up  what  is  the  mere 
recreation  of  every  clubman." 

"  As  a  recreation  pure  and  simple — she  would  not 

insist  too  much,  but "     I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

I  flatter  myself  on  being  able  to  do  it  with  perfect 
French  expressiveness.  I  caught,  to  my  satisfaction, 
an  angry  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say.  Monsieur,  that  I  play  for 
more  than  recreation  ?  " 

"  How  dare  I  say  anything,  Monsieur.     But  Madame 


194  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

is  prejudiced  against  the  Cercle  Africain.  For  a 
bachelor  there  is  httle  to  be  said  against  it — but  for  a 
married  man — you  seize  the  point  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Bicn,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  swallowing  his  wrath. 
"  And  Article  3  ?  " 

"  Since  you  have  left  the  army — would  it  not  be 
better  to  engage  in  some  profession — unless  your 
private  fortune  dispenses  you  from  the  necessity." 

He  said  nothing  but  :   "  Article  4  ?  " 

"  It  would  give  Madame  comfort  to  live  out  of 
Algiers." 

"  Moi  aussi,^^  he  replied  rather  unexpectedly.  "  We 
have  the  whole  of  France  to  choose  from." 

"  Would  not  Madame  be  happier  if  she  lived  out  of 
France  also  ?  She  has  always  longed  for  a  social 
position." 

"  Eh  bien  ?    I  can  give  her  one  in  France." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  him  in  the 
eyes. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  rising  and  giving  his  moustache 
a  swashbuckler  twist  upward,  "  what  are  you  daring 
to  insinuate  ?  " 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  fingered  the  waxed 
ends  of  mine. 

"  Nothing,  Monsieur  ;  I  ask  a  simple  question,  which 
you  surely  can  have  no  difficulty  in  answering." 

"  Your  questions  are  the  height  of  indiscretion,"  he 
cried  angrily. 

"  In  that  case,  before  we  carry  this  interview  further, 
the  Family  Council  and  Madame  would  do  well  to  have 
a  private  consultation." 

"  Monsieur,"  he  cried,  completely  losing  his  temper, 
*'  I  forbid  you  to  use  that  tone  with  me.  You  are 
making  a  mock  of  me.  You  are  insulting'me.  I  bore 
with  you  long  enough  to  see  how  much  further  you 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  195 

insolence  would  dare  to  go.  I'm  not  to  have  a  hand 
in  the  administration  of  my  wife's  money  ?  I'm  to 
forsake  a  plentiful  means  of  livehhood  ?  I'm  to  become 
a  commercial  traveller  ?  I'm  to  expatriate  myself  ? 
I'm  to  explain,  too,  the  reasons  why  I  left  the  army  ? 
I  would  not  condescend.  Least  of  all  to  you." 
"  May  I  ask  why,  Monsieur  ?  " 
"  Tonncrre  de  Dieu  !  "  He  stamped  his  foot.  "  Do 
you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  Here  I  am — I  came  at  my 
wife's  request,  ready  to  take  her  back  as  my  wife, 
ready  to  condone  everything — yes,  Monsieur,  as  a  man 
of  the  world — you  think  I  have  no  eyes,  no  under- 
standing— ready  to  take  her  off  your  hands " 

I  leaped  to  my  feet. 
"  Monsieur  !  "  I  thundered. 

Lola  gave  a  cry  and  rushed  forward.     I  pushed  her 
aside,  and  glared  at  him.     I  was  in  a  furious  rage.     We 
glared  at  each  other  eye  to  eye.     I  pointed  to  the  door. 
"  Monsieur,  sortez  !  " 

I  went  to  it  and  flung  it  wide.  Anastasius  Papa- 
dopoulos  trotted  into  the  room. 

His  entrance  was  so  queer,  so  unexpected,  so  anti- 
climactic,  that  for  a  moment  the  three  of  us  were 
thrown  off  our  emotional  balance. 

"  I  have  heard  all,  I  have  heard  all,"  shrieked  the 
little  man.  "  I  know  you  for  what  you  are,  I  am  the 
champion  of  the  carissima  signora  and  the  protector 
of  the  English  statesman.     You   are   a   traitor   and 

murderer " 

Vauvenarde  lifted  his  arm  in  a  threatening  gesture. 
"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  httle  abortion  !  "  he  shouted. 
But  Anastasius  went  on  screaming  and  flourishing 
his  bundle  of  papers. 

"  Ask  him  if  he  remembers  the  horse  Sultan  ;    ask 
him  if  he  remembers  the  horse  Sultan  !  " 


196  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Lola  took  him  by  the  shoulders. 

"  Anastasius,  you  must  go  away  from  here — to 
please  me.     It's  my  orders." 

But  he  shook  himself  free,  and  the  silk  hat  which  he 
had  not  removed  fell  off  in  the  quick  struggle. 

*'  Ask  him  if  he  remembers  Saupiquet,"  he  screamed, 
and  then  banged  the  door. 

A  malevolent  devil  put  a  sudden  idea  into  my  head 
and  prompted  speech. 

"  Do  you  remember  Saupiquet  ?  "  I  asked  ironically. 

"  Monsieur,  meddle  with  your  own  affairs  and  let  me 
pass.     You  shall  hear  from  me." 

The  drawf  planted  himself  before  the  door. 

"  You  shall  not  pass  till  you  have  answered  me.  Do 
you  remember  Saupiquet  ?  Do  you  remember  the  five 
francs  you  gave  to  Saupiquet  to  let  you  into  Sultan's 
stable  ?  Ah  !  Ha  ha  !  You  wince.  You  grow  pale. 
Do  you  remember  the  ball  of  poison  you  put  down 
Sultan's  throat  ?  " 

Lola  started  forward  with  flaming  eyes  and  anguished 
face. 

"  You — you  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  You  were  so  ignoble 
as  to  do  that  ?  " 

"The accursed  brute ! "  shouted  Vauvenarde.  "  Yes, 
I  did  it.     I  wish  I  had  burned  out  his  entrails." 

Anastasius  sprang  at  him  like  a  tiger-cat.  I  had  a 
quick  vision  of  the  dwarf  clinging  in  the  air  against  the 
other's  bulky  form,  one  hand  at  his  throat,  and  then  of 
an  incredibly  swift  flash  of  steel.  The  dwarf  dropped 
off  and  rolled  backwards,  reveahng  something  black 
sticking  out  of  Vauvenarde's  frock-coat — for  the 
second  I  could  not  realise  what  it  was.  Then 
Vauvenarde,  with  a  ghastly  face,  reeled  sideways  and 
collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Of  what  happened  immediately  afterwards  I  have  but 
a  confused  memory.  I  remember  that  Lola  and  I  both 
fell  on  our  knees  beside  the  stabbed  man,  and  I  re- 
member his  horrible  staring  eyes  and  open  mouth.  I 
remember  that,  though  she  was  white  and  shaky,  she 
neither  shrieked,  went  into  hysterics,  nor  fainted.  I 
remember  rushing  down  to  the  manager  ;  I  remember 
running  with  him  breathlessly  through  obscure  passages 
of  the  hotel  in  search  of  a  doctor  who  was  attending  a 
sick  member  of  the  staff.  I  remember  the  rush  back, 
the  doctor  bending  over  the  body,  which  Lola  had 
partially  unclothed,  and  saying  : 

"  He  is  dead.  The  blade  has  gone  straight  through 
his  heart." 

And  I  have  in  my  mind  the  unforgettable  and  awful 
picture  of  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  disregarded  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  with  his  absurd  silk  hat  on — some 
reflex  impulse  had  caused  him  to  pick  it  up  and  put  it 
on  his  head — sitting  on  the  floor  amid  a  welter  of  docu- 
ments relating  to  the  death  of  the  horse  Sultan,  one  of 
which  he  was  eagerly  perusing. 

After  this  my  memory  is  clear.  It  was  only  the  first 
awful  shock  and  horror  of  the  thing  that  dazed  me. 

The  man  was  dead,  said  the  doctor.  He  must  lie 
until  the  police  arrived  and  drew  up  the  proces-verbal. 
The  manager  went  to  telephone  to  the  pohce,  and  while 
he  was  gone  I  told  the  doctor  briefly  what  had  occurred. 

197 


198  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Anastasius  took  no  notice  of  us.  Lola,  holding  her 
nerves  under  iron  control,  stood  bolt  upright  looking 
alternately  at  the  doctor  and  myself  as  we  spoke.  But 
she  did  not  utter  a  word.  Presently  the  manager 
returned.  The  alarm  had  not  been  given  in  the  hotel. 
No  one  knew  anything  about  the  occurrence.  Lola 
went  into  her  bedroom  and  came  back  with  a  sheet. 
The  manager  took  it  from  her  and  threw  it  over  the  dead 
man.  The  doctor  stood  by  Anastasius.  The  end  of  a 
strip  of  sunlight  by  the  window  just  caught  the  dwarf  in 
his  comer. 

"  Get  up,"  said  the  doctor, 

Anastasius,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  his  papers, 
waved  him  away. 

"  I  am  busy.  I  am  engaged  on  important  papers  of 
identification.  He  had  a  white  star  on  his  forehead, 
and  his  tail  was  over  a  metre  long." 

Lola  approached  him. 

"  Anastasius,"  she  said  gently.  He  looked  up  with 
a  radiant  smile.  "  Put  away  those  papers."  Like  a 
child  he  obeyed  and  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Then, 
seeing  the  unfamiliar  face  of  the  doctor  for  the  first 
time,  he  executed  one  of  his  politest  and  most  elaborate 
bows.  The  doctor,  after  looking  at  him  intently  for  a 
while,  turned  to  me. 

"  Mad.  Utterly  mad.  Apparently  he  has  no  con- 
sciousness of  what  he  has  done." 

He  lured  him  to  the  sofa  and  sat  beside  him  and 
began  to  talk  in  a  low  tone  of  the  contents  of  the  papers. 
Anastasius  replied  cheerfully,  proud  at  being  noticed 
by  the  stranger.  The  papers  referred  to  a  precious 
secret,  a  gigantic  combination,  which  he  had  spent 
years  in  maturing.  I  shivered  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  and  turned  to  Lola. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  199 

"  This  is  no  place  for  you.  Go  into  your  bedroom 
till  you  are  wanted." 

I  held  the  door  open  for  her.  She  put  her  hands  up 
to  her  face  and  reeled,  and  I  thought  she  would  have 
fallen  ;  but  she  roused  herself. 

"  I  don't  want  to  break  down— not  yet.     I  shall  if 
I'm  left  alone — come  and  sit  with  me,  for  God's  sake." 
"  Very  well,"  said  I. 

She  passed  me  and  I  followed  ;    but  at  the  door  I 
turned  and  glanced  round  the  cheerful,  sunny  room. 
There,  against  the  background  of  blue  sky  and  tree  tops 
framed  by  the  window  sat  Anastasius  Papadopoulos, 
swinging  his  httle  legs  and  talking  bombastically  to  the 
tanned   and  grizzled  doctor,   and  opposite  stood  the 
correctly  attired  hotel  manager  in  the  attitude  in  which 
he  habitually  surveyed  the  lay-out  of  the  table  d'hote, 
keeping  watch  beside  the  white-covered  shape  on  the 
floor.     I  was  glad  to  shut  the  sight  from  my  eyes. 
We  waited  silently  in  the  bedroom,  Lola  sitting  on  the 
bed  and  hiding  her  face  in  the  pillows,  and  I  standing 
by  the  window  and  looking  out  at  the  smihng  mockery 
of  the   fair  earth.     An  agonising  spasm   of  pain — a 
memento  mori — shot  through  me  and  passed  away.     I 
thanked  God  that  a  few  weeks  would  see  the  end  of  me. 
I  had  always  enjoyed  the  comedy  of  Hfe.     It  had  been 
to  me  a  thing  of  infinite  jest.     But  this  stupid,  meaning- 
less tragedy  was  carrying  the  joke  too  far.     My  fastidi- 
ousness revolted  at  its  vulgarity.     I  no  longer  wished 
to  inhabit  a  world  where  such  jests  were  possible.  .  .  . 
I  had  never  seen  a  man  die  before.     I  was  surprised  at 
the  swiftness  and  the  ugliness  of  it.  .  .  .  I  suddenly 
reahsed  that  I  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  which  I  was 
quite  unconscious  of  having  ht.     I  threw  it  away.     A 
minute  afterwards  I  felt  that  if  I  did  not  smoke  I  should 


200  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

go  crazy.  So  I  lit  another.  .  .  .  The  ghastly  silliness 
of  the  murder  !  .  .  .  Colonel  Bunnion's  loud  laugh  rose 
from  the  terrace  below,  jarring  horribly  on  my  ears.  A 
long  green  praying  mantis  that  had  apparently  mounted 
on  the  bourgainvillea  against  the  hotel  wall  appeared  in 
meditative  stateliness  on  the  window-sill.  I  picked  the 
insect  up  absent-mindedly,  and  began  to  play  with  it. 
Lola's  voice  from  the  bed  startled  me  and  caused  me  to 
drop  the  mantis.     She  spoke  hoarsely. 

"  Tell  me — what  are  they  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 
I  turned  round.  She  had  raised  a  crushed  face  from 
the  pillows,  and  looked  at  me  haggardly.  I  noticed  a 
carafe  of  brandy  and  a  syphon  by  the  bedside.  I  mixed 
her  a  strong  dose,  and,  before  replying,  made  her  drink 
it. 

"  They'll  place  him  under  restraint,  that's  all.  He's 
not  responsible  for  his  actions." 

"  He  did  that  once  before — I  told  you — but  without 
the  knife — I  wish  I  could  cry — I  can't — You  don't 
think  it  heartless  of  me^ — but  my  brain  is  on  fire — I  shall 
always  see  it — I  wish  to  God  I  had  never  asked  him  to 
come — Why  did  I  ?  My  God,  why  did  I  ? — It  was  my 
fault — I  wanted  to  see  him — to  judge  for  myself  how 
much  of  the  old  Andre  was  left — there  was  good  in  him 
once — I  thought  I  might  possibly  help  him — There  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  in  the  world — Without  you  any 
kind  of  old  hell  was  good  enough — That's  why  I  sent 
for  him — When  he  came,  after  a  bit,  I  was  afraid,  and 

sent  for  you " 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  asked  me  at  once  what  money  I  had — Then 
there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  I  would 
join  him — We  spoke  of  you — the  friend  who  could  ad- 
vise me — He  never  said — what  he  said  afterwards — I 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  201 

thought  it  kind  of  him  to  consent  to  see  you — I  rang  the 
bell  and  sent  the  chasseur  for  you.  I  supposed  Anastasius 
had  gone  home — I  never  thought  of  him.  The  poor  little 
man  was  sweet  to  me,  just  hke  a  dog — a  silent,  sympa- 
thetic dog — I  spoke  to  him  as  I  would  to  something 
that  wouldn't  understand — all  sorts  of  foohsh  things — 
Now  and  then  a  woman  has  to  empty  her  heart  " — she 
shivered — her  hands  before  her  face — 

"  It's  my  fault,  it's  my  fault." 

"  These  things  are  no  one's  fault,"  I  said  gently. 
But  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  console  her  with  what 
thumb-marked  scraps  of  platitude  I  could  collect — the 
only  philosophy  after  all,  such  is  the  futility  of  systems, 
adequate  to  the  deep  issues  of  life — the  door  opened  and 
the  manager  announced  that  the  police  had  arrived. 

We  went  through  the  ordeal  of  the  proces-verbal. 
Anastasius,  confronted  with  his  victim,  had  no  memory 
of  what  had  occurred.  He  shrieked  and  shrank  and  hid 
his  face  in  Lola's  dress.  When  he  was  forced  to  speak 
he  declared  that  the  dead  man  was  not  Captain 
Vauvenarde.  Captain  Vauvenarde  was  at  the  Cercle 
Africain.  He,  himself,  was  seeking  him.  He  would 
take  the  gendarmes  there,  and  they  could  arrest  the 
Captain  for  the  murder  of  Sultan  of  which  his  papers 
contained  indubitable  proofs.  Eventually  the  poor 
little  wretch  was  led  away  in  custody,  proud  and  smiling, 
entirely  convinced  that  he  was  leading  his  captors  to  the 
arrest  of  Captain  Vauvenarde.  On  the  threshold  he 
turned  and  bowed  to  us  so  low  that  the  brim  of  his  silk 
hat  touched  the  floor.  Then  Lola's  nerve  gave  way 
and  she  broke  into  a  passion  of  awful  weeping. 

The  commissaire  de  police  secured  the  long  thin  knife 
(how  the  dwarf  had  managed  to  conceal  it  on  his  small 
person  was  a  mystery)  and  the  bundle  of  documents,  and 


202  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

accompanied  me  to  my  room  to  see  whether  he  had  left 
anything  there  to  serve  as  a  piece  de  conviction.  We 
found  only  the  crumpled  picture  of  the  horse  Sultan 
neatly  pinned  against  my  bedroom  wall,  and  on  the 
floor  a  ribbon  tied  like  a  garter  with  a  little  bell  opposite 
the  bow.  On  it  was  written  "  Santa  Bianca,"  and  I 
knew  it  was  the  collar  of  the  beloved  cat  which  he  must 
have  been  carrying  about  him  for  a  talisman.  The 
commissaire  took  this  also. 

If  you  desire  to  know  the  details  of  the  judicial  pro- 
ceedings connected  with  the  murder  of   Andre  Marie 
Joseph    Vauvenarde,    ex-Captain    in    the    Chasseurs 
d'Afrique,  and  the  trial  of  Anastasius  Papadopoulos,  I 
must  refer  you  to  the  Algerian j  Parisian,  and  London 
Press.     There  you   will   find   an   eagerly  picturesque 
account  of  the  whole  miserable  affair.     Now,  not  only 
am  I  unable  to  compete  with  descriptive  verbatim 
reporters  on  their  own  ground,  but  also  a  consecutive 
statement,  either  bald  or  graphic,  of  the  tedious  horrors 
Lola  Brandt  and  I  had  to  undergo  would  be  foreign  to 
the  purpose  of  these  notes,  however  far  from  their 
original  purpose  an  ironical  destiny  has  caused  them  to 
wander.     You  know  nearly  all  that  is  necessary  for  you 
to  know,  so  that  when  I  am  dead  you  may  not  judge  me 
too  harshly.     The  remainder  I  can  summarise  in  a  few 
words.     At  any  rate,  I  have  told  the  truth,  often  more 
naively  than  one    would    have   thought    possible    for 
a    man   who   prided  himself  as  much  as  I  did  on  his 
epicurean  sophistication. 

These  have  been  days,  as  I  say,  of  tedious  horror. 
There  have  been  endless  examinations,  reconstructions 
of  the  crime,  exposures  in  daring  publicity  of  the  private 
lives  of  the  protagonists  of  the  lunatic  drama.     The 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  203 

French  judges  and  advocates  have  accepted  the  account 
given  by  Lola  and  myself  of  our  mutual  relations  witli  a 
certain  mocking  credulity.     The  Press  hasn't  accepted 
it  at  all.     It  took  as  a  matter  of  course  the  view  held 
by  the  none  too  noble  victim.     At  first,  seeing  Lola 
shrug  her  shoulders  with  supreme  indifference  as  to  her 
own  reputation,  I  cared  but  little  for  these  insinuations. 
I  wro*te  such  letters  to  my  sisters  and  to  Dale  as  I  felt 
sure  would  be  believed,  and  let  the  long-eared,  gaping 
world  go  hang.     Besides,  I  had  other  things  to  think  of. 
Physical  pain  is  insistent,  and  I  have  suffered  damnable 
torture.     The  pettiness  of  the  legal  inquiry  has  been 
also  a  maddening  irritation.     Nothing  has  been  too 
minute  for  the  attention  of  the  French  judiciary.     It 
seemed  as  though  the  whole  of  the  evil  gang  of  the 
Cercle  Africain  were  called  as  witnesses.     They  testified 
as  to  Captain  Vauvenarde's  part  proprietorship  of  the 
hell — as  to  wrong  practices  that  occurred  there — as  to 
the  crazy  conduct  of  both  Anastasius  and  myself  on  the 
occasion  of  my  insane  visit.     Officers  of  the  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique    were    compelled    further    to    blacken    the 
character  of  the  dead  man — he  had  been  a  notorious 
plucker  of  pigeons  during  most  of  his  military  career, 
and  when  at  last  he  was  caught  red-handed  palming 
the  king  at  ecarte,  he  was  forced  to  resign  his  commission. 
Arabs  came  from  the  slums  with  appalling  stories. 
Even  the  stoUd  Saupiquet,  dragged  from  Toulon,  gave 
evidence  as  to  the  five-franc  bribe  and  the  debt  of  fifteen 
sous,  and  identified  the  horse  Sultan  by  the  crumpled 
photograph.     Lola  and  I  have  been  racked  day  after 
day  with  questions — some,  indeed,  prompted  by  the 
suspicion  that  Vauvenarde  might  have  met  his  death 
directly  by  our  hand  instead  of  that  of  Anastasius.     It 
was  the  Procureur  general  who  said  :  ''  It  can  be  argued 


204  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

that  you  would  benefit  by  the  decease  of  the  defunct." 
I  rephed  that  we  could  not  benefit  in  any  way.  My  sole 
object  was  to  effect  a  reconciliation  between  husband 
and  wife.  "  Will  you  explain  why  you  gave  yourself 
that  trouble  ?  "  I  never  have  smiled  so  grimly  as  I  did 
then.  How  could  I  explain  my  precious  pursuit  of  the 
eumoirous  to  a  French  Procureur  general  F  How  could 
I  put  before  him  the  point  of  view  of  a  semi-disembodied 
spirit  ?  I  replied  with  lame  lack  of  originality  that  my 
actions  proceeded  from  disinterested  friendship.  "  You 
are  a  pure  altruist  then  ?  "  said  he.  "  Very  pure," 
said  I.  ...  It  was  only  the  facts  of  the  scabbard  of 
the  knife  having  been  found  attached  to  the  dwarf's 
person  beneath  his  clothes,  and  of  certain  rambling 
menaces  occurring  in  his  Sultan  papers  that  saved  us 
from  the  indignity  of  being  arrested  and  put  into  the 
dock.  .  .  . 

During  all  this  time  I  remained  at  the  hotel  at 
Mustapha  Superieur.  Lola  moved  to  a  suite  of  rooms 
in  another  hotel  a  little  why  down  the  hill.  I  saw  her 
daily.  At  first  she  shrank  from  publicity  and  refused 
to  go  out,  save  in  a  closed  carriage  to  the  town  when 
her  presence  was  necessary  at  the  inquiries.  But  after 
a  time  I  persuaded  her  to  brave  the  stare  of  the  curious 
and  stroll  with  me  among  the  eucalyptus  woods  above. 
We  cut  ourselves  off  from  other  human  companionship 
and  felt  like  two  lost  souls  wandering  alone  through 
mist.  She  conducted  herself  with  grave  and  simple 
dignity.  .  .  .  Once  or  twice  she  visited  Anastasius  in 
prison.  She  found  him  humanely  treated  and  not  de- 
spondent. He  thought  they  had  arrested  him  for  the 
poisoning  of  the  horse,  and  laughed  at  their  foolishness. 
As  they  refused  to  return  him  his  dossier,  he  occupied 
himself  in  reconstituting  it,  and  wrote  pages  and  pages  of 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  205 

incoherence  to  prove  the  guilt  of  Captain  Vauvenardc. 
He  was  hopelessly  mad.  .  .  .  The  bond  of  pain  bound 
me  very  close  to  Lola. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  life  ?  "  I  asked 
her  one  day. 

"  So  long  as  I  have  you  as  a  friend,  it  doesn't  greatly 
matter." 

"  You  forget,"  I  said,  "  that  you  can't  have  me  much 
longer," 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  ?  It's  not  because  I 
have  dragged  you  through  all  this  dirt  and  horror. 
Another  woman  might  say  that  of  another  man — but 
not  I  of  you.  Why  are  you  going  to  leave  me  ?  I 
want  so  little — only  to  see  you  now  and  then — to  keep 
the  heart  in  me." 

"  Can't  you  realise,"  I  answered,  "  that  what  I  said 
in  London  is  true  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  can't.  It's  unbehevable.  You 
can't  beUeve  it  yourself.  If  you  did,  how  could  you  go 
on  behaving  hke  anybody  else — like  me,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  condemned  to 
die? " 

She  shuddered.  "  I  should  go  mad  with  fear — I — " 
She  broke  off  and  remained  for  some  moments  reflective, 
with  knitted  brow.  Then  she  hfted  her  head  proudly. 
"  No,  I  shouldn't.  I  should  face  it  Hke  you.  Only 
cowards  are  afraid.  It's  best  to  show  things  that  you 
don't  care  a  hang  for  them." 

"  Keep  that  sublime  je  m'en  fichHsme  up  when  I'm 
dead  and  buried,"  said  I,  "  and  you'll  pull  through 
your  hfe  all  right.  The  only  thing  you  must  avoid  is 
the  pursuit  of  eumoiriety." 

"  What  on  earth  is  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  last  devastating  vanity,"  said  I, 


2o6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

And  so  it  is, 

"  When  you  are  gone,"  she  said  bravely,  "  I  shall 
remember  how  strong  and  true  you  were.  It  will  make 
me  strong  too." 

I  acquiesced  silently  in  her  proposition.  In  this  age 
of  flippancy  and  scepticism,  if  a  human  soul  proclaims 
sincerely  its  faith  in  the  divinity  of  a  rabbit,  in  God's 
name  don't  disturb  it.  It  is  something  whereto  to  refer 
his  aspirations,  his  resolves  ;  it  is  a  court  of  arbitration, 
at  the  lowest,  for  his  spiritual  disputes  ;  and  the  rabbit 
will  be  as  effective  an  oracle  as  any  other.  For  are  not 
all  religions  but  the  strivings  of  the  spirit  towards 
crystallisation  at  some  point  outside  the  environment 
of  passions  and  appetites  which  is  the  flesh,  so  that  it 
can  work  untrammelled ;  and  are  not  all  gods  but  the 
accidental  forms,  conditioned  by  circumstance,  which 
this  crystallisation  takes  ?  All  gods  in  their  anthropo-, 
helio-,  thero-,  or  what-not-morphic  forms  are  false ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  all  gods  in  their  spiritual  essence 
are  true.  So  I  do  not  deprecate  my  prospective  unique 
position  in  Lola  Brandt's  hagiology.  It  was  better  for 
her  soul  that  I  should  occupy  it.  Even  if  I  were  about 
to  live  my  normal  life  out,  like  any  other  hearty  human, 
marry  and  beget  children,  I  doubt  whether  I  should 
attempt  to  shake  my  wife's  faith  in  my  heroical 
qualities. 

This  was  but  a  fragment  of  one  among  countless 
talks.  Some  were  lighter  in  tone,  others  darker,  the 
mood  of  man  being  much  like  a  child's  balloon  which 
rises  or  falls  as  the  strata  of  air  are  more  rarified  or  more 
dense.  Perhaps,  during  the  time  of  strain,  the  atmo- 
sphere was  more  often  rarefied,  and  our  conversation 
had  the  day's  depressing  incidents  for  its  topics.  We 
rarely  spoke  of  the  dead  man.  He  was  scarcely  a  sub- 
ject for  panegyric,  and  it  was  useless  to  dwell  on  the 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  207 

memory  of  his  degradation.  I  think  we  only  once 
talked  of  him  deeply  and  at  any  length,  and  that  was 
on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  His  brother,  a  manufacturer 
at  Clermont-Ferrand,  and  a  widowed  aunt,  apparently 
his  only  two  surviving  relatives,  arrived  in  Algiers  just 
in  time  to  attend  the  ceremony.  They  had  seen  the 
report  of  the  murder  in  the  newspapers  and  had  started 
forthwith.  The  brother,  during  an  interview  with  Lola, 
said  bitter  things  to  her,  reproaching  her  with  the  man's 
downfall,  and  cast  on  her  the  responsibility  of  his  death. 

"  He  spoke,"  she  said,  "as  if  I  had  suggested  the 
murder  and  practically  put  the  knife  into  the  poor  crazy 
little  fellow's  hand." 

The  Vauvenardes  must  have  been  an  amiable  family. 

"  Before  I  came,"  she  said  a  while  later,  "  I  still  had 
some  tenderness  for  him — a  woman  has  for  the  only 
man  that  has  been — really — in  her  life.  I  wish  I  could 
feel  it  now.  I  wish  I  could  feel  some  respect  even. 
But  I  can't.  If  I  could,  it  would  lessen  the  horror  that 
has  got  hold  of  me  to  my  bones." 

It  was  a  torture  to  her  generous  soul  that  she  could 
not  grieve  for  him.  She  could  only  shudder  at  the 
tragedy.  In  her  heart  she  grieved  more  for  Anastasius 
Papadopoulos,  and  in  so  doing  she  was,  in  her  feminine 
way,  self-accusative  of  callous  lack  of  human  feeling. 
It  was  my  attempt  to  bring  her  to  a  more  rational  state 
of  mind  that  caused  us  to  review  the  dead  man's  career, 
and  recapitulate  the  unpleasing  incidents  of  the  last 
interview. 

Of  Captain  Vauvenarde,  no  more.  He  has  gone 
whither  I  am  going.  That  his  soul  may  rest  in  peace  is 
my  earnest  prayer.     But  I  do  not  wish  to  meet  him. 

Lola  went  tearless  and  strong  through  the  horrible 
ordeal  of  the  judicial  proceedings.  She  said  I  gave  her 
courage.     Perhaps,  unconsciously,  I  did.     It  was  only 


2o8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

when  the  end  came  that  she  broke  down,  although  she 
knew  exactly  what  the  end  would  be.  And  I,  too,  felt 
a  lump  in  my  throat  when  they  sentenced  Anastasius 
Papadopoulos  to  the  asylum,  and  I  saw  him  for  the  last 
time,  the  living  parody  of  Napoleon  III.,  frock-coated 
and  yellow-gloved,  the  precious,  newly  written  dossier 
in  his  hand,  as  he  disappeared  with  a  mournful  smUe 
from  the  court,  after  bowing  low  to  the  judge  and  to  us, 
without  having  understood  the  significance  of  anything 
that  had  happened. 

In  the  carriage  that  took  us  home  she  wept  and  sobbed 
bitterly. 

"  I  loved  him  so.  He  was  the  only  creature  on  earth 
that  loved  me.  He  loved  me  as  only  a  dog  can  love — or 
an  angel." 

I  let  her  cry.     What  could  I  say  or  do  ? 

These  have  been  weeks  of  tedious  horror  and  pain. 
With  the  exception  of  Colonel  Bunnion,  I  have  kept 
myself  aloof  from  my  fellow-creatures  in  the  hotel,  even 
taking  my  meals  in  my  own  rooms,  not  wishing  to  be 
stared  at  as  the  hero  of  the  scandal  that  convulsed  the 
place.  And  with  regard  to  Colonel  Bunnion,  shall  I  be 
accused  of  cynicism  if  I  say  that  I  admitted  him — not 
to  my  confidence — but  to  my  company,  because  I  know 
that  it  delighted  the  honest  but  boring  fellow  to  prove  to 
himself  that  he  could  rise  above  British  prejudice  and 
exhibit  tact  in  dealing  with  a  man  in  a  delicate  position  ? 
For,  mark  you,  all  the  world — even  those  nearest  and 
dearest  to  me  as  I  soon  discovered — believed  that  the 
wife  of  the  man  who  was  murdered  before  my  eyes  was 
my  mistress.  Colonel  Bunnion  was  kind,  and  he  meant 
to  be  kind.  He  was  a  gentleman  for  all  his  wearisome- 
ness,  and  his  kindness  was  such  as  I  could  accept.  But 
I  know  th^t  what  I  say  about  him  is  true.    Ye  gods  ! 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  209 

Haven't  I  felt  myself  the  same  swelling  pride  in  my 
broadmindedness  ?  When  a  man  is  going  on  my 
journey  he  does  not  palter  with  truth. 

Though  I  held  myself  aloof,  as  I  say,  from  practically 
all  my  fellow-creatures  here,  I  have  not  been  cut  off 
from  the  outside  world.  My  sisters,  like  this  French 
court  in  Algiers,  have  accepted  my  statement  with 
polite  incredulity.  Their  letters  have  been  full  of  love, 
half-veiled  reproach,  anxiety  as  to  their  social  position, 
and  an  insane  desire  to  come  and  take  care  of  me.  This 
I  have  forbidden  them  to  do.  The  pain  they  would 
have  inflicted  on  themselves,  dear  souls,  would  have  far 
outweighed  the  comfort  I  might  have  gained  from  their 
ministrations.  Then  I  have  had  piteous  letters  from  Dale. 

"...  Your  telegram  reassured  me,  though  I  was 
puzzled.  Now  I  get  a  letter  from  Lola,  telling  me  it's  all 
off — that  she  never  loved  me — that  she  valued  my 
youth  and  my  friendship,  but  that  it  is  best  for  us  not 
to  meet  again.  What  is  the  meaning  of  it,  Simon  ? 
For  Heaven's  sake  tell  me.  I  can't  think  of  anything 
else.     I  can't  sleep.     I  am  going  off  my  head.  ..." 

Again.  "...  This  awful  newspaper  report  and 
your  letter  of  explanation — I  have  them  side  by  side. 
Forgive  me,  Simon.  I  don't  know  what  to  believe, 
where  to  turn.  ...  I  have  looked  up  to  you  as  the 
best  and  straightest  man  I  know.  You  must  be.  Yet 
why  have  you  done  this  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  she 
was  married  ?  Why  didn't  she  tell  me  ?  I  can't  write 
properly,  my  head  is  all  on  a  buzz.  The  beastly  papers 
say  you  were  living  with  her  in  Algiers — but  you  weren't, 
were  you  ?  It  would  be  too  horrible.  In  fact,  you  say 
you  weren't.  But,  all  the  same,  you  have  stolen  her 
from^i'me.  It  wasn't  like  you.  .  .  .  And  this  awful 
murder.  My  God  !  you  don't  know  what  it  all  means 
to  me.     It's  breaking  my  heart.  .  .  ." 

o 


210  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

And  Lady  Kynnersley  wrote — with  what  object  I 
scarcely  know.  The  situation  was  far  beyond  the  poor 
lady's  by-laws  and  regulations  for  the  upbringing  of 
families  and  the  conduct  of  life.  The  elemental  mother 
in  her  battled  on  the  side  of  her  only  son — foolishly, 
irrationally,  unkindly.  Her  exordium  was  as  correct 
as  could  be.  The  tragedy  shocked  her,  the  scandal 
grieved  her,  the  innuendoes  of  the  Press  she  refused  to 
believe  ;  she  sympathised  with  me  deeply.  But  then 
she  turned  from  me  to  Dale,  and  feminine  unreason  took 
possession  of  her  pen.  She  bitterly  reproached  herself 
for  having  spoken  to  me  of  Madame  Brandt.  Had  she 
known  how  passionate  and  real  was  his  attachment,  she 
would  never  have  interfered.  The  boy  was  broken- 
hearted. He  accused  me  of  having  stolen  her  from 
him — his  own  words.  He  look  little  interest  in  his  elec- 
tioneering campaign,  spoke  badly,  unconvincingly ; 
spent  hours  in  alternate  fits  of  listlessness  and  anger. 
She  feared  for  her  darling's  health  and  reason.  She 
made  an  appeal  to  me  who  professed  to  love  him — if  it 
were  honourably  possible,  would  I  bring  Madame  Brandt 
back  to  him  ?  She  was  willing  now  to  accept  Dale's 
estimate  of  her  worth.  Could  I,  at  the  least,  prevail  on 
Madame  Brandt  to  give  him  some  hope — of  what  she 
did  not  know — but  some  hope  that  would  save  him 
from  ruining  his  career  and  "  doing  something  des- 
perate ?  " 

And  another  letter  from  Dale  : 

"...  I  can't  work  at  this  election.  For  God's  sake, 
give  her  back  to  me.  Then  I  won't  care.  What  is 
Parliament  to  me  without  her  ?  And  the  election  is  as 
good  as  lost  already.  The  other  side  has  made  as  much 
as  possible  of  the  scandal.  ..." 

The  only  letters  that  have  not  been  misery  to  read 
have  come  from  Eleanor  Faversham.     There  was  one 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  211 

passage  which  made  me  thank  God  that  He  had  created 
such  women  as  Eleanor — 

"  Don't  fret  over  the  newspaper  lies,  dear.  Those 
who  love  you — and  why  shouldn't  I  love  you  still  ? — 
know  the  honourable  gentleman  that  you  are.  Write 
to  me  if  it  would  ease  your  heart  and  tell  me  just  what 
you  feel  you  can.  Now  and  always  you  have  my  utter 
sympathy  and  understanding." 

And  this  is  the  woman  of  whose  thousand  virtues  I 
dared  to  speak  in  flippant  jest. 

Heaven  forgive  me. 

After  receiving  Lady  Kynnersley's  appeal,  I  went  to 
Lola.  It  was  just  before  the  case  came  on  at  the  Cour 
d' Assises.  She  had  finished  luncheon  in  her  private 
room  and  was  sitting  over  coffee.  I  joined  her.  She 
wore  the  black  blouse  and  skirt  with  which  I  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  grow  familiar,  as  it  robbed  her  of  that 
peculiar  fascinating  quality  which  I  have  tried  to 
suggest  by  the  word  pantherine.  Coffee  over,  we  moved 
to  the  window  which  opened  on  a  little  back  garden — 
the  room  was  on  the  ground  floor — in  which  grew  prickly 
pear  and  mimosa,  and  newly  flowering  heliotrope.  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  mention  this,  except  that 
some  scenes  impress  themselves,  for  no  particular 
reason,  on  the  memory,  while  others  associated  with 
more  important  incidents  fade  into  vagueness.  I 
picked  a  bunch  of  heliotrope  which  she  pinned  at  her 
bosom. 

"  Lola,"  I  said,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  seriously." 

She  smiled  wanly  :  "  Do  we  ever  speak  otherwise 
these  dreadful  days  ?  " 

"  It's  about  Dale.  Read  this,"  said  I,  and  I  handed 
her  Lady  K^Tinersley's  letter.  She  read  it  through  and 
returned  it  to  me. 

"  Well  ?  " 


212  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  I  asked  you  a  week  or  two  ago  what  you  were  going 
to  do  with  your  life,"  I  said.  "  Does  that  letter  offer 
you  any  suggestion  ?  " 

"  I'm  to  give  him  some  hope — what  hope  can  I  give 
him'  ?  " 

"  You're  a  free  woman — free  to  marry.  For  the 
boy's  sake  the  mother  wiU  consent.  When  she  knows 
you  as  well  as  we  know  you  she  will " 

"  She  will — what  ?     Love  me  ?  " 

"  She's  a  woman  not  given  to  loving — except,  in  un- 
expected bursts,  her  offspring.  But  she  will  respect 
you." 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments  silent,  her  arm  resting 
against  the  window-jamb  and  her  head  on  her  arm.  She 
remained  there  so  long  that  at  last  I  rose  and,  looking  at 
her  face,  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She 
dashed  them  away  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  gave  me 
a  swift  look,  and  went  and  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the 
room.  An  action  of  this  kind  on  the  part  of  a  woman 
signifies  a  desire  for  solitude.  I  lit  a  cigarette  and  went 
into  the  garden. 

It  was  a  sorry  business.  I  saw  as  clearly  as  Lola  that 
Lady  Kynnersley  desired  to  purchase  Dale's  immediate 
happiness  at  any  price,  and  that  the  future  might  bring 
bitter  repentance.  But  I  offered  no  advice.  I  have 
finished  playing  at  Deputy  Providence.  A  madman 
letting  off  fireworks  in  a  gunpowder  factory  plays  a  less 
dangerous  game. 

Presently  she  joined  me  and  ran  her  arm  through  mine.' 
"  I'll  write  to  Dale  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  Don't 
let  us  talk  of  it  any  more  now.     You  are  tired  out.     It's 
time  for  you  to  go  and  lie  down.     I'll  walk  with  you  up 
the  hill." 

It  has  come  to  this,  that  I  must  lie  down  for  some 
hours  during  the  day  lest  I  should  fall  to  pieces. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  213 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  I  laughed.  "  What  a  thing 
it  is  to  have  the  wits  of  a  man  and  the  strength  of  a 
baby." 

She  pressed  my  arm  and  said  in  her  low  caressing 
voice  which  I  had  not  heard  for  many  weeks  :  "  I 
shouldn't  be  so  proud  of  those  man's  wits,  if  I  were 
you." 

I  knew  she  said  it  playfully  with  reference  to  mascu- 
line non-perception  of  the  feminine  ;  but  I  chose  to  take 
it  broadly. 

"  My  dear  Lola,"  said  I,  "  it  has  been  borne  in  upon 
me  that  I  am  the  most  witless  fool  that  the  unwisdom 
of  generations  of  English  country  squires  has  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  producing." 

"  Don't  talk  rot,"  she  said,  with  foolishness  in  her 
eyes. 

She  accompanied  me  bareheaded  in  the  sunshine  to 
the  gate  of  my  hotel. 

"  Come  and  dine  with  me,  if  you're  weU  enough," 
she  said  as  we  parted. 

I  assented,  and  when  the  evening  came  I  went.  Did 
I  not  say  that  we  were  like  two  lost  souls  wandering 
alone  through  mist  ? 

It  was  only  when  I  rose  to  bid  her  good  night  that  she 
referred  to  Dale. 

"  I  wrote  to  him  this  afternoon,"  she  announced  curtly. 

"  You  said  vou  would  do  so." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  what  I  told  him  ?  " 
•     She  put  her  hands  behind  her  back  and  stood  facing 
me.   somewhat  defiantly,   in   all  her  magnificence.     I 
smiled.     Women,  much  as  they  scoff  at  the  blindness 
of  our  sex,  are  often  transparent. 

"  It's  your  firm  intention  to  tell  me,"  said  I.    "  Well  ?" 

She  advanced  a  step  nearer  to  me,  and  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eyes,  still  defiantly. 


214  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  I  told  him  that  I  loved  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
all  my  soul.  I  told  him  that  you  didn't  know  it ;  that 
you  didn't  care  a  brass  curse  for  me  ;  that  you  had 
acted  as  you  thought  best  for  the  happiness  of  himself 
and  me.  I  told  him  that  while  you  lived  I  could  not 
think  of  another  man.  I  told  him  that  if  you  could  face 
Death  with  a  smile  on  your  face,  he  might  very  well 
show  the  same  courage  and  not  chuck  things  right  and 
left  just  because  a  common  woman  wouldn't  marry  him 
or  live  with  him  and  spoil  his  career.  There !  That's 
what  I  told  him.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  what  effect  it  wHl  have,"  said  I 
wearily^^or  I  was  very,  very  tired.  "  But  why,  my  poor 
Lola,  have  you  wasted  your  love  on  a  shadow  like  me." 

She  answered  after  the  foolish  way  of  woman. 

I  have  not  heard  since  from  either  Dale  or  Lady  Kyn- 
nersley.  A  day  or  two  ago,  in  reply  to  a  telegram  to 
Raggles,  I  learned  that  Dale  has  lost  the  election. 

This,  then,  is  the  end  of  my  apologia  pro  vita  mea, 
which  I  began  with  so  resonant  a  flourish  of  vainglory. 
I  have  said  all  that  there  is  to  be  said.  Nothing  more 
has  happened  or  is  likely  to  happen  until  they  put  me 
under  the  earth.  Oh  yes,  I  was  forgetting.  In  spite 
of  my  Monte  Cristo  munificence,  poor  Latimer  has  been 
hammered  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  Poor  Lucy  and  the 
kids! 

I  shall  have,  I  think,  just  enough  strength  left  to 
reach  Mentone — this  place  is  intolerable  now — and 
there  I  shall  put  myself  under  the  care  of  a  capable 
physician  who,  with  his  abominable  drugs,  will  doubt- 
less begin  the  cheerful  work  of  inducing  the  mental 
decay  which  I  suppose  must  precede  physical  dissolution. 

I  must  confess  that  I  am  disappointed  with  the 
manner  of  my  exit.     I  had  imagined  it  quite  different. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  215 

I  had  beheld  myself  turning  with  a  smile  and  a  jest  for 
one  last  view  of  the  faces  over  which  I,  in  my  eumoirous 
career,  had  cast  the  largesse  of  happiness,  and  then 
vanishing  with  a  gallant  carelessness  through  the  dusky 
portals.  Instead  of  that,  here  am  I  sneaking  out  of  life 
by  the  back  door,  covering  my  eyes  for  very  shame. 
And  glad  ?     O  God,  how  glad  I  am  to  slink  out  of  it ! 

I  have  indeed  accomplished  the  thing  which  I  set  out 
to  do.  I  have  severed  a  boy  from  the  object  of  his 
passion.  What  an  achievement  for  the  crowning  glory 
of  a  lifetime  !  And  at  what  a  cost  :  one  fellow-crea- 
ture's life  and  another's  reason.  On  me  lies  the  respon- 
sibility. Vauvenarde,  it  is  true,  did  not  adorn  this 
grey  world,  but  he  drew  the  breath  of  life,  and,  through 
my  jesting  agency,  it  was  cut  off.  Anastasius  Papado- 
poulos,  had  he  not  come  under  my  malign  influence, 
would  have  lived  out  his  industrious,  happy  and  dream- 
filled  days.  Lesser,  but  still  great  price,  too,  has  been 
paid.  Jealous  hatred,  misery  and  failure  for  the  being 
I  care  most  for  in  the  world,  the  shame  of  a  sordid 
scandal  to  those  that  hold  me  dear,  the  hopeless  love 
and  speedy  mourning  of  a  woman  not  without  greatness. 

I  have  tried  to  make  a  Tom  Fool  of  Destiny — and 
Destiny  has  proved  itself  to  be  the  superior  jester  of 
the  two,  and  has  made  a  grim  and  bedraggled  Tom  Fool 
of  me. 

...  I  must  end  this.  I  have  just  fallen  in  a  faint 
on  the  floor,  and  Rogers  has  revived  me  with  some 
drops  Hunnington  had  given  me  in  view  of  such  a  con- 
tingency. 

These  are  the  last  words  I  shall  write.  Life  is  too 
transcendentally  humorous  for  a  man  not  to  take  it 
seriously.  Compared  with  it,  Death  is  but  a  shallow 
jest 


CHAPTER  XVI 

It  is  many  weeks  since  I  wrote  those  words  which  I 
thought  were  to  be  my  last.  I  read  them  over  now, 
and  laugh  aloud.  Life  is  more  devilishly  humorous 
than  I  in  my  most  nightmare  dreams  ever  imagined. 
Instead  of  dying  at  Mentone  as  I  proposed,  I  am  here, 
at  Mustapha  Superieur,  still  living.  And  let  me  tell 
you  the  master  joke  of  the  Arch- J  ester. 

I  am  going  to  live. 

I  am  not  going  to  die.     I  am  going  to  live.     I  am 
quite  well. 

Think  of  it.     Is  it  farcical,  comical,  tragical,  or  what  ? 

This  is  how  it  has  befallen.  The  last  thing  I  re- 
member of  the  old  conditions  was  Rogers  packing  my 
things,  and  a  sudden  awful,  excruciating  agony.  I 
lost  consciousness,  remained  for  days  in  a  bemused, 
stupefied  state,  which  I  felt  convinced  was  death,  and 
found  particularly  pleasant.  At  last  I  woke  to  a  sense 
of  bodily  constriction  and  discomfort,  and  to  the  queer 
realisation  that  what  I  had  taken  for  the  Garden  of 
Prosperine  was  my  own  bedroom,  and  that  the  pale  lady 
whom  I  had  so  confidently  assumed  was  she  who, 
crowned  with  palm  leaves,  "  gathers  all  things  mortal 
with  cold,  immortal  hands,"  was  no  other  than  a  blue- 
.  and-white-vested  hospital  nurse. 

"  What  the "  I  began. 

"  Chut !  "  she  said,  flitting  noiselessly  to  my  side. 
"  You  mustn't  talk."     And  then  she  poured  something 

216 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  217 

down  my  throat.  I  lay  back,  wondering  what  it  all 
meant.  Presently  a  grizzled  and  tanned  man,  wearing 
a  narrow  black  tie,  came  into  the  room.  His  face 
seemed  oddly  famUiar.  The  nurse  whispered  to  him. 
He  came  up  to  the  bed,  and  asked  me  in  French  how  I  felt. 

"  I  don't  know  at  all,"  said  I. 

He  laughed.  •'  That's  a  good  sign.  Let  me  see  how 
you  are  getting  on."  He  stuck  a  thermometer  in  my 
mouth  and  held  my  pulse.  These  formalities  com- 
pleted, he  turned  up  the  bedclothes  and  did  something 
with  my  body.  Only  then  did  I  realise  that  I  was 
tightly  bandaged.  My  impressions  grew  clearer,  and 
when  he  raised  his  face  I  recognised  the  doctor  who  had 
sat  on  the  sofa  with  Anastasius  Papadopoulos. 

"  Nothing  could  be  better,"  said  he.  "  Keep  quiet, 
and  all  will  be  well." 

"  Will  you  kindly  explain  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You've  had  an  operation.     Also  a  narrow  escape." 

I  smiled  at  him  pityingly.  "  What  is  the  good  of 
taking  all  this  trouble  ?  Why  are  you  wasting  your  time  ?  ' ' 

He  looked  at  me  uncomprehendingly  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  laughed  as  the  light  came  to  him. 

"  Oh,  I  understand !  Yes.  ,Your  English  doctors 
had  told  you  you  were  going  to  die.  That  an  operation 
would  be  fatal — so  your  good  friend  Madame  Brandt 
informed  us — but  we — nous  autrcs  Frangais — are  more 
enterprising.  Kill  or  cure.  We  performed  the  opera- 
tion— we  didn't  kill  you — and  here  you  are — cured." 

My  heart  sickened  with  a  horrible  foreboding.  A 
clamminess,  such  as  others  feel  at  the  approach  of 
death,  spread  over  my  brow  and  neck. 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried.  "  You  are  not  trying  to  tell 
me  that  I'm  going  to  live  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  am  !  "  he  exclaimed,  brutally 


2i8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

delighted,  "  If  nothing  else  kills  you,  you'll  live  to  be 
a  hundred." 

"  Oh,  damn  !"  said  I.  "  Oh,  damn  !  Oh,  damn!" 
and  the  tears  of  physical  weakness  poured  down  my 
cheeks. 

"  Ce  sont  des  droles  de  gens,  les  Anglais  .' "  I  heard  him 
whisper  to  the  nurse  before  he  left  the  room. 

Belonging  to  a  queer  folk  or  not,  I  found  the  prospect 
more  and  more  dismally  appalling  according  as  my  mind 
regained  its  clarity.  It  was  the  most  overwhelming, 
piteous  disappointment  I  have  ever  experienced  in  my 
life.     I  cursed  in  my  whimpering,  invalid  fashion. 

"  But  don't  you  want  to  get  well  ?  "  asked  the  wide- 
eyed  nurse. 

"  Certainly  not  1  I  thought  I  was  dead,  and  I  was 
very  happy,  I've  been  tricked  and  cheated  and 
fooled,"  and  I  dashed  my  fist  against  the  counterpane. 

"  If  you  go  on  in  this  way,"  said  the  nurse,  "  you  will 
commit  suicide." 

"  I  don't  care  !  "  I  cried— and  then,  they  tell  me, 
fainted.  My  temperature  also  ran  up,  and  I  became 
lightheaded  again.  It  was  not  until  the  next  day 
that  I  recovered  my  sanity.  This  time  Lola  was  in  the 
room  with  the  nurse,  and  after  a  while  the  latter  left 
us  together.  Even  Lola  could  not  understand  my 
paralysing  dismay. 

"  But  think  of  it,  my  dear  friend,"  she  argued,  "  just 
think  of  it.  You  are  saved — saved  by  a  miracle.  The 
doctor  says  you  will  be  stronger  than  you  have  ever  been 
before." 

"  All  the  more  dreadful  will  it  be,"  said  I.  "  I  had 
finished  with  Hfe.  I  had  got  through  with  it.  I  don't 
want  a  second  hfetime.  One  is  quite  enough  for  any 
sane  human  being.  Why  on  earth  couldn't  they  have 
let  me  die  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  219 

Lola  passed  her  cool  hand  over  my  forehead. 

"  You  mustn't  talk  Hke  that — Simon,"  she  said,  in 
her  deepest  and  most  caressing  voice,  using  my  name 
somewhat  hesitatingly,  for  the  first  time.  "  You 
mustn't.  A  miracle  really  has  been  performed.  You've 
been  raised  from  the  dead — Hke  the  man  in  the 
Gospel " 

"  Yes,"  said  I  petulantly,  "  Lazarus.  And  does  the 
Gospel  tell  us  what  Lazarus  really  thought  of  the 
unwarrantable  interference  with  his  plans  ?  Of  course 
he  had  to  be  pohte " 

"  Oh,  don't  !  "  cried  Lola,  shocked.  In  a  queer, 
unenlightened  way,  she  was  a  religious  woman. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  I,  feeling  ashamed  of  myself. 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  have  prayed  God  to  make  you 
well,"  she  said.  "  If  I  could  have  died  for  you,  I 
would — gladly — gladly ' ' 

"  But  I  wanted  to  die,  my  dear  Lola,"  I  insisted,  with 
the  egotism  of  the  sick.  "  I  object  to  this  resuscitation. 
I  say  it  is  monstrous  that  I  should  have  to  start  a 
second  hfetime  at  my  age.  It's  all  very  well  when  you 
begin  at  the  age  of  half  a  minute — but  when  you  begin 
at  eight-and-thirty  years " 

"  You  have  all  the  wisdom  of  eight-and-thirty  years 
to  start  with." 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  more  disastrous  to  a  man 
than  the  wisdom  of  thirty-eight  years,"  I  declared  with 
mulish  inconvincibihty,  "  and  that  is  the  wisdom  he  may 
accumulate  after  that  age." 

She  sighed  and  abandoned  the  argument.  "  We  are 
going  to  make  you  well  in  spite  of  yourself,"  she  said. 

They,  namely,  the  doctor,  the  nurse,  and  Lola,  have 
done  their  best,  and  they  have  succeeded.  But  their 
task  has  been  a  hard  one.  The  patient's  will  to  live  is 
always  a  great  factor  in  his  recovery.     My  disgust  at 


220  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

having  to  live  has  impeded  my  convalescence,  and  I 
fully  believe  that  it  is  only  Lola's  tears  and  the  doctor's 
frenzied  appeals  to  me  not  to  destroy  the  one  chance  of 
his  life  of  establishing  a  brilliant  professional  reputation 
that  have  made  me  consent  to  face  existence  again. 

As  for  the  doctor,  he  was  pathetically  insistent. 

"  But,  tonnerre  de  Dieu,  you  must  get  well  !  "  he 
gesticulated.  "  I  am  going  to  publish  it,  your  operation. 
It  will  make  my  fortune.  I  shall  at  last  be  able  to  leave 
this  hole  of  an  Algiers  and  go  to  Paris  !  You  don't 
know  what  I've  done  for  you,  ingrat  !  I've  performed 
an  operation  on  you  that  has  never  been  performed 
successfully  before.  I  thought  it  had  been  done,  but  I 
found  out  afterwards  my  English  confreres  were  right. 
It  hasn't.  I've  worked  a  miracle  in  surgery,  and  by 
my  publication  will  make  you  as  the  subject  of  it 
famous  for  ever.  And  here  you  are  trying  to  die  and 
ruin  everything.  I  ask  you — have  you  no  human 
feelings  left  ?  " 

At  the  conclusion  of  these  lectures  I  would  sigh  and 
laugh,  and  stretch  out  a  thin  hand.  He  shook  it  always 
with  a  humorous  grumpiness,  and  a  "  sale  bete  va  !  " 
which  did  me  more  good  than  the  prospect  of  acquiring 
fame  in  the  annals  of  the  Ecole  de  Medecine. 

Here  am  I,  however,  cured.  I  have  thrown  away  the 
stick  with  which  I  first  began  to  limp  about  the  garden, 
and  I  discourage  Lola  and  Rogers  in  their  efforts  to  treat 
me  as  an  invalid.  Like  the  doctor,  I  have  been  longing 
to  escape  from  "  this  hole  of  an  Algiers  "  and  its  painful 
associations,  and,  when  I  was  able  to  leave  my  room,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  the  sooner  I  regained  my  strength 
the  sooner  should  I  be  able  to  do  so.  Since  then^my 
recovery  has  been  rapid.  The  doctor  is  delighted,  and 
slaps  me  on  the  back,  and  points  me  out  to  Lola  and  the 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  221 

manager  and  the  concierge  and  the  hoary  old  sinner  of 
an  Arab  who  displays  his  daggers,  and  trays,  and  em- 
broideries on  the  terrace,  as  a  living  wonder.  I  believe 
he  would  like  to  put  me  in  a  cage  and  carry  me  about 
with  him  in  Paris  on  exhibition.  But  he  is  reluctantly 
prepared  to  part  with  me,  and  has  consented  to  my 
return  in  a  few  days'  time,  to  England,  by  the  North 
German  Lloyd  steamer.  He  has  ordered  the  sea 
voyage  as  a  finishing-touch  to  my  cure.  Good,  deluded 
man,  he  thinks  that  it  is  his  fortuitous  science  that  has 
dragged  me  out  of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  and  set  me 
in  the  Garden  of  Life.  Good,  deluded  man  !  He  does 
not  realise  that  he  has  been  merely  the  tool  of  the  Arch- 
Jester.  He  has  no  notion  of  the  sardonic  joke  his  knife 
was  chosen  to  perpetrate.  That  naked  we  should  come 
into  the  world,  and  naked  we  should  go  out  is  a  time- 
honoured  pleasantry  which,  as  far  as  the  latter  part  of 
it  is  concerned,  I  did  my  conscientious  best  to  further  ; 
but  that  we  should  come  into  it  again  naked  at  the  age  of 
eight-and-thirty  is  a  piece  of  irony  too  grim  for  con- 
templation. Yet  am  I  bound  to  contemplate  it.  It 
grins  me  in  the  face.     Figuratively,  I  am  naked. 

Partly  by  my  own  act,  and  partly  with  the  help  of 
Destiny  (thegreater  jester  than  I)  I  have  stripped  myself 
of  all  those  garments  of  life  which  not  only  enabled  me 
to  strut  peacock-fashion  in  the  pleasant  places  of  the 
world,  but  also  sheltered  me  from  its  inclemencies. 

I  had  wealth — not  a  Rothschild  or  Vanderbilt  fortune 
but  enough  to  assure  me  ease  and  luxury.  I  have 
stripped  myself  of  it.  I  have  but  a  beggarly  sum 
remaining  at  my  bankers.     Practically  I  am  a  pauper. 

I  had  political  position.  I  surrendered  it  as  airily  as 
I  had  achieved  it  ;  so  airily,  indeed,  that  I  doubt  whether 
I  could  regain  it  even  had  I  the  ambition.      For  it  was  a 


222  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

game  that  I  played,  sometimes  fascinating,  sometimes 
repugnant  to  my  fastidious  sense  of  honourable  dealing, 
for  which  I  shall  never  recapture  the  mood.  Mood 
depends  on  conditions,  and  conditions,  as  I  am  trying 
to  show,  are  changed. 

I  had  social  position.  I  did  not  deceive  myself  as  to 
its  value  in  the  cosmic  scheme,  but  it  was  one  of  the 
pleasant  things  to  which  I  was  bom,  just  as  I  was  bom 
to  good  food  and  wines  and  unpatched  boots  and  the 
morning  hot  water  brought  into  my  bedroom.  I  liked 
it.  I  suspect  that  it  has  fled  into  eternity  with  the 
spirit  of  Captain  Vauvenarde.  The  penniless  hero  of 
an  amazing  scandal  is  not  usually  made  an  idol  of  by  the 
exclusive  aristocracy  of  Great  Britain. 

I  had  a  sweet  and  loyal  woman  about  to  marry  me. 
I  put  Eleanor  Faversham  for  ever  out  of  my  life. 

I  had  the  devotion  and  hero-worship  of  a  lad  whom  I 
thought  to  train  in  the  paths  of  honour,  love  and  happi- 
ness. In  his  eyes  I  suppose  I  am  an  unconscionable 
villain. 

I  have  stripped  myself  of  everything  ;  and  all  because 
the  medical  faculty  of  my  country  sentenced  me  to 
death.  I  really  think  the  Royal  Colleges  of  Surgeons 
and  Physicians  ought  to  pay  me  an  indemnity. 

And  not  only  have  I  stripped  myself  of  everything, 
but  I  have  incurred  an  incalculable  debt.  I  owe  a 
woman  the  infinite  debt  of  her  love  which  I  cannot 
repay.  She  sheds  it  on  me  hourly  with  a  lavishness 
which  scares  me.  But  for  her  tireless  devotion,  the 
doctor  tells  me,  I  should  not  have  lived.  But  for  her 
selfless  forbearance,  sympathy,  and  compassion  I 
should  have  gone  as  crazy  as  Anastasius  Papadopoulos. 
Yet  the  burden  of  my  debt  lies  iceberg  cold  on  my  heart. 
Now  that  we  are  as  intimate  as  man  and  woman  who 
are  still  only  friends  can  be.  she  has  lost  the  magnetic 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  223 

attraction,  that  subtle  mystery  of  the  woman — half 
goddess,  half  panther — which  fascinated  me  in  spite  of 
myself,  and  made  me  jealous  of  poor  young  Dale.  Now 
that  I  can  see  things  in  some  perspective,  I  confess  that, 
had  I  not  been  under  sentence  of  death,  and,  therefore, 
profoundly  convinced  that  I  was  immune  from  all  such 
weaknesses  of  the  flesh,  I  should  have  realised  the 
temptation  of  languorous  voice  and  sinuous  limbs,  of  the 
frank  radiation  of  the  animal  enchanted  as  it  was  by 
elusive  gleams  of  the  spiritual,  of  the  Laisdom  and 
Thaisdom  and  Phrynedom,  of  the  Lamiadom — in  a 
word,  of  all  the  sexual  damnability  in  a  woman  which, 
as  Francois  Villon  points  out,  set  Sardanapalus  to  spin 
among  the  women,  David  to  forget  the  fear  of  God, 
Herod  to  slay  the  Baptist,  and  made  Samson  lose  his 
sight.  Whether  I  should  have  yielded  to  or  resisted 
the  temptation  is  another  matter.  Honestly  speaking, 
I  think  I  should  have  resisted. 

You  see,  I  should  still  have  been  engaged  to  Eleanor 
Faversham.  .  .  .  But  now  this  somewhat  unholy  in- 
fluence is  gone  from  her.  She  has  lifted  me  in  her  strong 
arms  as  a  mother  would  Hft  a  brat  of  ten.  She  has 
patiently  suffered  my  whimsies  as  if  I  had  been  a  sick 
girl.  She  has  become  to  me  the  mere  great  mothering 
creature  on  whom  I  have  depended  for  custard  and  the 
removal  of  crumbs  and  creases  from  under  my  body,  and 
for  support  to  my  tottering  footsteps.  The  glamour 
ha>  gone  from  before  my  eyes.  I  no  longer  see  her 
invested  in  her  queer  splendour.  .  .  . 

My  invalid  peevishness,  too,  has  accentuated  my 
sensitiveness  to  shades  of  refinement.  There  is  about 
Lola  a  bluffness,  a  hardihood  of  speech,  a  contempt  for 
the  polite  word  and  the  pretty  conventional  turning  of 
a  phrase,  a  lack  of  reticence  in  the  expression  of  ideas 
and  feelings,  which  jar,  in  spite  of  my  gratitude,  on  my 


224  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

unstrung  nerves.  Her  ignorance,  too,  of  a  thousand 
things,  a  knowledge  of  which  is  the  birthright  of  such 
women  as  Eleanor  Faversham,  causes  conversational 
excursions  to  end  in  innumerable  blind  alleys.  I  know 
that  she  would  give  her  soul  to  learn.  This  she  has  told 
me  in  so  many  words,  and  when,  in  a  delicate  way,  I  try 
to  teach  her,  she  listens  humbly,  pathetically,  fixing  me 
with  her  great,  gold-flecked  eyes,  behind  which  a  deep 
sadness  burns  wistfully.  Sometimes  when  I  glance  up 
from  my  book,  I  see  that  her  eyes,  instead  of  being  bent 
on  hers,  have  been  resting  long  on  my  face,  and  they  say 
as  clearly  as  articulate  speech  :  "  Beat  me,  teach  me, 
love  me,  use  me,  do  what  you  will  with  me.  I  am  yours, 
your  chattel,  your  thing,  till  the  end  of  time." 

I  lie  awake  at  night  and  wonder  what  I  shall  do  with 
my  naked  life  sheltered  only  by  the  garment  of  this 
woman's  love,  which  I  have  accepted  and  cannot  repay. 
I  groan  aloud  when  I  reflect  on  the  irremediable  mess, 
hash,  bungle  I  have  made  of  things.  Did  ever  sick  man 
wake  up  to  such  a  hopeless  welter  ?  Can  you  be  sur- 
prised that  I  regarded  it  with  dismay  ?  Of  course, 
there  is  a  simple  way  out  of  it,  and  into  the  shadowy 
world  which  I  contemplated  so  long,  at  first  with 
mocking  indifference  and  then  with  eager  longing.  A 
gentleman  called  Cato  once  took  it,  with  considerable 
aplomb.  The  means  are  to  my  hand.  In  my  drawer 
lies  the  revolver  with  which  the  excellent  Colonel 
Bunnion  (long  since  departed  from  Mustapha  Superieur) 
armed  me  against  the  banditti  of  Algiers,  and  which  I 
forgot  to  return  to  him.  I  could  empty  one  or  more  of 
the  six  chambers  into  my  person  and  that  would  be  the 
end.  But  I  don't  think  history  records  the  suicide  of 
any  humorist,  however  dismal.  He  knows  too  well  the 
tricks  of  the  Arch- J  ester's  game.  Very  likely  I  should 
merely  blow  away  half  my  head,  and  Destiny  would 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  225 

give  my  good  doctor  another  chance  of  achieving  im- 
mortal fame  by  glueing  it  on  again.  No,  I  cannot  think 
seriously  of  suicide  by  violent  means.  Of  course,  I 
might  follow  the  example  of  one  Antonius  Polemon,  a 
later  Greek  sophist,  who  suffered  so  dreadfully  from 
gout  that  he  buried  himself  ahve  in  the  tomb  of  his 
ancestors  and  starved  to  death.  We  have  a  family 
vault  in  Highgate  Cemetery  of  which  I  possess  the 
key.  .  .  .  No,  I  should  be  bored  and  cold,  and  the 
coffins  would  get  on  my  nerves  ;  and  besides,  there  is 
something  suggestive  of  smug  villadom  in  the  idea  of 
going  to  die  at  Highgate. 

Lola  came  up  as  I  was  scribbling  this  on  my  knees  in 
the  garden. 

"  What  are  you  writing  there  ?  " 

"  I  am  recasting  Hamlet's  soliloquy,"  I  replied,  "  and 
I  feel  all  the  better  for  it." 

"  Here  is  your  egg  and  brandy." 

I  swallowed  it  and  handed  her  back  the  glass. 

"  I  feel  all  the  better  for  that,  too." 

As  I  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  little  stone  summer-house 
within  the  Greek  portico,  she  lingered  in  the  blazing 
sunshine,  a  figure  all  glorious  health  and  supple  curves, 
and  the  stray  brown  hairs  above  the  bronze  mass 
gleamed  with  the  gold  of  a  Giotto  aureole.  She  stood 
a  duskily  glowing,  radiant  emblem  of  hfe  against  the 
background  of  spring  greenery  and  rioting  convolvulus. 
I  drew  a  full  breath  and  looked  at  her  as  if  magnetised. 
I  had  the  very  oddest  sensation.  She  seemed,  in 
Shakespearean  phrase,  to  rain  influence  upon  me. 
Something  electric  in  her  rich  vitality  quickened  me.  As 
if  she  read  the  stirrings  of  my  blood,  she  smiled  and  said : 

*'  After  all,  confess,  isn't  it  good  to  be  alive  ?  " 

A  thrill  of  physical  well-being  swept  through  me. 
I  leaped  to  my  feet. 


226  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  You  witch !  "  I  cried.  "  What  are  you  doing  to  me  ?" 

"  I  ?  "     She  retreated  a  step,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Yes,  you.  You  are  casting  a  spell  on  me,  so  that  I 
may  eat  my  words." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  but  you 
haven't  answered  my  question.     It  is  good  to  be  alive." 

"Well,  it  is,"  I  assented,  losing  all  sense  of  consistency. 

She  flourished  the  egg-and-brandy  glass.  "  I'm  so 
glad.  Now  I  know  you  are  really  well,  and  will  face 
life  as  you  faced  death,  like  the  brave  man  that  you  are." 

I  cried  to  her  to  hold.  I  had  not  intended  to  go  as 
far  as  that.  I  confronted  death  with  a  smile  ;  I  meet 
life  with  the  wriest  of  wry  faces.  She  would  have  none 
of  my  arguments, 

"  No  matter  how  damnable  it  is — it's  splendid  to  be 
alive,  just  to  feel  that  you  can  fight,  just  to  feel  that  you 
don't  care  a  damn  for  any  old  thing  that  can  happen, 
because  you're  strong  and  brave.  I  do  want  you  to  get 
back  all  that  you've  lost,  all  that  you've  lost  through 
me,  and  you'll  do  it.  I  know  that  you'll  do  it.  You'll 
just  go  out  and  smash  up  the  silly  old  world  and  bring 
it  to  your  feet.  You  will,  Simon,  won't  you  ?  I  know 
you  will," 

She  quivered  like  an  optimistic  Cassandra. 

"  My  dear  Lola,"  said  I. 

I  was  touched.  I  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to 
my  lips,  whereat  she  flushed  like  a  girl. 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  tell  me  all  this  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  simply.  "  It  came  all  of  a  sudden, 
as  I  was  standing  here.  I've  often  wanted  to  say  it. 
I'm  glad  I  have." 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  regarded  me  a  moment 
with  a  strange,  proud  smile  ;  then  turned  and  walked 
slowly  away,  her  head  brushing  the  long  scarlet  clusters 
of  the  pepper-trees. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  other  day,  while  looking  through  a  limbo  of  a 
drawer  wherein  have  been  cast  from  time  to  time  a 
medley  of  maimed,  half-soiled,  abortive  things,  too 
unfitted  for  the  paradise  of  publication,  and  too  good 
(so  my  vanity  will  have  it)  for  the  damnation  of  the 
waste-paper  basket,  I  came  across,  at  the  very  bottom, 
the  manuscript  of  the  preceding  autobiographical 
narrative,  the  last  words  of  which  I  wrote  at  Mustapha 
Superieur  three  years  ago.  At  first  I  carried  it  about 
with  me,  not  caring  to  destroy  it  and  not  knowing  what 
in  the  world  to  do  with  it  until,  with  the  malice  of 
inanimate  things,  the  dirty  dog's-eared  bundle  took  to 
haunting  me,  turning  up  continually  in  inconvenient 
places  and  ever  insistently  demanding  a  new  depository. 
At  last  I  began  to  look  on  it  with  loathing  ;  and  one  day 
in  a  fit  of  inspiration,  creating  the  limbo  aforesaid,  I 
hurled  the  manuscript,  as  I  thought,  into  everlasting 
oblivion.  I  had  no  desire  to  carry  on  the  record  of  my 
life  any  further,  and  there,  in  limbo,  it  has  remained  for 
three  years.  But  the  other  day  I  took  it  out  for 
reference  ;  and  now  as  I  am  holiday-making  in  a 
certain  little  backwater  of  the  world,  where  it  is  raining 
in  a  most  unholiday  fashion,  it  occurs  to  me  that,  as 
everything  has  happened  to  me  which  is  likely  to  happen 
(Heaven  knows  I  want  no  more  excursions  and  alarums 
in  my  life's  drama),  I  may  as  well  bring  the  narrative 
up  to  date.  I  therefore  take  up  the  thread,  so  far  as  I 
can,  from  where  I  left  off. 

237 


228  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Lola,  having  nothing  to  do  in  Algiers,  which  had 
grov^Ti  hateful  to  us  both,  accompanied  me  to  London. 
As,  however,  the  weather  was  rough,  and  she  was  a 
very  bad  sailor,  I  saw  little  of  her  on  the  voyage.  For 
my  own  part,  I  enjoyed  the  stormy  days,  the  howling 
winds  and  the  infuriated  waves  dashing  impotently 
over  the  steamer.  They  filled  me  with  a  sense  of  con- 
flict and  of  amusement.  It  is  always  good  to  see  man 
triumphing  over  the  murderous  forces  of  nature.  It 
puts  one  in  conceit  with  one's  kind. 

At  Waterloo  I  handed  Lola  over  to  her  maid,  who 
had  come  to  meet  her,  and,  leaving  Rogers  in  charge  of 
my  luggage,  I  drove  homeward  in  a  cab. 

It  was  only  as  I  was  crossing  Waterloo  Bridge  and 
saw  the  dark  mass  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  looming 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  the  light  in  the  tower 
which  showed  that  the  House  was  sitting,  that  I  began 
to  realise  my  situation.  As  exiles  in  desert  lands  yearn 
for  green  fields,  so  yearned  I  for  those  green  benches. 
In  vain  I  represented  to  myself  how  often  I  had  yawned 
on  them,  how  often  I  had  cursed  my  folly  in  sitting  on 
them  and  listening  to  empty  babble  when  I  might  have 
been  dining  cosily,  or  talking  to  a  pretty  woman  or 
listening  to  a  comic  opera,  or  performing  some  other 
useful  and  soul-satisfying  action  of  the  kind';  in  vain 
I  told  myself  what  a  monument  of  futility  was  that 
building  ;  I  longed  to  be  in  it  and  of  it  once  again. 
And  when  I  realised  that  I  yearned  for  the  im- 
possible, my  heart  was  like  a  stone.  For,  indeed,  I, 
Simon  de  Gex,  with  London  once  a  toy  to  my  hand, 
was  coming  into  it  now  a  penniless  adventurer  to  seek 
my  fortune. 

The  cab  turned  into  the  Strand,  which  greeted  me  as 
affably  as  a  pandemonium.  Motor  omnibuses  whizzed 
at  me,  cabs  rattled  and  jeered  at  me,  private  motors  and 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  229 

carriages  passed  me  by  in  sleek  contempt  ;  policemen 
regarded  me  scornfully  as,  with  uplifted  hand  regulating 
the  traffic,  they  held  me  up  ;  pavements  full  of  people 
surged  along  ostentatiously  showing  that  they  did  not 
care  a  brass  farthing  for  me  ;  the  thousands  of  lights 
with  their  milhon  reflections,  from  shop  fronts,  restau- 
rants, theatres,  and  illuminated  signs  glared  pitilessly 
at  me.  A  harsh  roar  of  derision  filled  the  air,  like  the 
bass  to  the  treble  of  the  newsboys  who  yelled  in  my 
face.  I  was  wearing  a  fur-lined  coat — just  the  thing  a 
penniless  adventurer  would  wear.  I  had  a  valet 
attending  to  my  luggage — just  the  sort  of  thing  a 
penniless  adventurer  would  have.  I  was  driving  to 
the  Albany — just  the  sort  of  place  where  a  penniless 
adventurer  would  live.  And  London  knew  all  this — 
and  scoffed  at  me  in  stony  heartlessness.  The  only 
object  that  gave  me  the  slightest  sympathy  was  Nelson 
on  top  of  his  column.  He  seemed  to  say,  "  After  all, 
you  canH  feel  such  a  fool  and  so  much  out  in  the  cold 
as  I  do  up  here." 

At  Piccadilly  Circus  I  found  the  same  atmosphere  of 
hostility.  My  cab  was  blocked  in  the  theatre-going 
tide,  and  in  neighbouring  vehicles  I  had  glimpses  of  fair 
faces  above  soft  wraps  and  the  profiles  of  moustached 
young  men  in  white  ties.  They  assumed  an  aggravating 
air  of  ownership  of  the  blazing  thoroughfare,  the  only 
gay  and  joyous  spot  in  London.  I,  too,  had  owned  it 
once,  but  now  I  felt  an  alien  ;  and  the  whole  spirit  of 
Piccadilly  Circus  rammed  the  sentiment  home — I  was 
an  alien  and  an  undesirable  alien.  I  felt  even  more 
lost  and  friendless  as  I  entered  the  long,  cold  arcade 
(known  as  the  Rope-walk)  of  the  Albany. 

I  found  my  sister  Agatha  waiting  for  me  in  the 
library.  IJiad  telegraphed  to  her  from  Southampton. 
She  was  expensively  dressed  in  grey  silk,  and  wore  the 


230  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

family  diamonds.  We  exchanged  the  family  kiss  and  the 
usual  incoherent  greetings  of  our  race.  She  expressed 
her  delight  at  my  restoration  to  health  and  gave  me 
satisfactory  tidings  of  Tom  Durrell,  her  husband,  of  the 
children,  and  of  our  sister  Jane.  Then  she  shook  her 
head  at  me,  and  made  me  feel  like  a  naughty  little  boy. 
This  I  resented.  Being  the  head  of  the  family,  I  had 
always  encouraged  the  deferential  attitude  which  my 
sisters,  dear  right-minded  things,  had  naturally  assumed 
from  babyhood. 

"  Oh,  Simon,  what  a  time  you've"given  us  !  " 

She  had  never  spoken  to  me  like  this  in  her  life. 

"  That's  nothing,  my  dear  Agatha,"  said  I  just  a  bit 
tartly,  "  to  the  time  I've  given  myself.  I'm  sorry  for 
you,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  be  a  little  sorry  for  me." 

"  I  am.  More  sorry  than  I  can  say.  Oh,  Simon, 
how  could  you  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  what  ?  "  I  cried,  unusually  regardless 
of  the  elegances  of  language. 

"  Mix  yourself  up  in  this  dreadful  affair  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  I,  "  if  you  had  got  mixed  up  in  a 
railway  collision,  I  shouldn't  ask  you  how  you  managed 
to  do  it.  I  should  be  sorry  for  you  and  feel  your  arms 
and  legs  and  inquire  whether  you  had  sustained  any 
internal  injuries." 

She  is  a  pretty,  spare  woman  with  a  bird-like  face  and 
soft  brown  hair  just  turning  grey  ;  and  as  good-hearted 
a  little  creature  as  ever  adored  five  healthy  children  and 
an  elderly  baronet  with  disastrous  views  on  scientific 
farming. 

"  Dear  old  boy,"  she  said  in  milder  accents,  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  unkind.  I  want  to  be  good  to  you  and  help 
you,  so  much  so  that  I  asked  Bingley  " — Bingley  is  my 
housekeeper — "  whether  I  could  stay  to  dinner." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  231 

"  That's  good  of  you — but  this  magnificence ?  " 

"  I'm  going  on  later  to  the  Foreign  Office  reception." 

"  Then  you  do  still  mingle  with  the  great  and 
gorgeous  ?  "  I  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

I  laughed,  suspecting  rightly  that  my  sisters'  social 
position  had  not  been  greatly  imperilled  by  the  pro- 
fligacy of  their  scandal-bespattered  brother. 

"  What  are  people  sajnng  about  me  ?  "  I  asked 
suddenly. 

She  made  a  helpless  gesture.  "  Can't  you  guess  ?  You 
have  told  us  the  facts,  and,  of  course,  we  believe  you  ; 
we  have  done  our  best  to  spread  abroad  the  correct 
version — but  you  know  what  people  are.  If  they're  told 
they  oughtn't  to  beheve  the  worst,  they're  disappointed 
and  still  go  on  beheving  it  so  as  to  comfort  themselves." 

"  You  cynical  little  wretch  !  "  said  I. 

"  But  it's  true,"  she  urged.  "  And.  after  all,  even 
if  they  were  well  disposed,  the  correct  version  makes 
considerable  demands  on  their  faith.  Even  Letty 
Farfax " 

"  I  know,  I  know  !  "  said  I.  "  Letty  Farfax  is 
typical.  She  would  love  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  angels, 
but  as  she  wouldn't  meet  the  best  people  there,  she 
ranges  herself  with  the  other  party." 

Presently  we  dined,  and  during  the  meal,  when  the 
servants  happened  to  be  out  of  the  room,  we  continued, 
snippet-wise,  the  inconclusive  conversation.  Like  a 
good  sister  Agatha  had  come  to  cheer  a  lonely  and 
much-abused  man  ;  like  a  daughter  of  Eve  she  had  also 
come  to  find  out  as  much  as  she  possibly  could. 

"  I  think  I  must  tell  you  something  which  you  ought 
to  know,"  she  said.  "  It's  all  over  the  town  that  you 
stole  the  lady  from  Dale  Kynnersley." 


232  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  If  I  did,"  said  I,  "  it  was  at  his  mother's  earnest 
entreaty.  You  can  tell  folks  that.  You  can  also  tell 
them  Madame  Brandt  is  not  the  kind  of  woman  to  be 
stolen  by  one  man  from  another.  She  is  a  thoroughly 
virtuous,  good,  and  noble  woman,  and  there's  not  a 
creature  living  who  wouldn't  be  honoured  by  her  friend- 
ship." 

As  I  made  this  announcement  with  an  impetuosity 
which  reminded  me  (with  a  twinge  of  remorse)  of  poor 
Dale's  dithyrambics,  Agatha  shot  at  me  a  quick  glance 
of  apprehension. 

"  But,  my  dear  Simon,  she  used  to  act  in  a  circus  with 
a  horse  !  " 

"  I  fail  to  see,"  said  I,  growing  angry,  "  how  the  horse 
could  have  imbued  her  with  depravity,  and  I'm  given 
to  understand  that  the  tone  of  the  circus  is  not  quite 
what  it  used  to  be  in  the  days  of  the  Empress  Theodora." 

A  ripple  passed  over  Agatha's  bare  shoulders,  which 
I  knew  to  be  a  suppressed  shrug. 

"  I  suppose  men  and  women  look  at  these  things 
differently,"  she  remarked,  and  from  the  stiffness  of  her 
tone  I  divined  that  the  idea  of  moral  qualities  lurking  in 
the  nature  of  Lola  Brandt  occasioned  her  considerable 
displeasure. 

"  I    hope "     She    paused.     There   was   another 

ripple.     "  No.     I  had  better  not  say  it.     It's  none  of 
my  business,  after  all." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is,  my  dear,"  said  I. 

Rogers  bringing  in  the  cutlets  ended  the  snippet  of 
talk. 

It  was  not  the  cheeriest  of  dinners.  I  took  advantage 
of  the  next  interval  of  quiet  to  inquire  after  Dale.  I 
learned  that  the  poor  boy  had  almost  collapsed  after  the 
election  and  was  now  yachting  with  young  Lord  Essen- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  233 

dale  somewhere  about  the  Hebrides.  Agatha  had  not 
seen  him,  but  Lady  Kynnersley  had  called  on  her  one 
day  in  a  distracted  frame  of  mind,  bitterly  reproaching 
me  for  the  unhappiness  of  her  son,  I  should  never  have 
suspected  that  such  fierce  maternal  love  could  burn 
beneath  Lady  Kynnersley's  granite  exterior.  She 
accused  me  of  treachery  towards  Dale  and,  most 
illogically,  of  dishonourable  conduct  towards  herself. 

"  She  said  things  about  you,"  said  Agatha,  "  for 
which,  even  if  they  were  true,  I  couldn't  forgive  her. 
So  that's  an  end  of  that  friendship.  Indeed,  it  has  been 
very  difficult,  Simon,"  she  continued,  "  to  keep  up  with 
our  common  friends.  It  has  placed  us  in  the  most  pain- 
ful and  delicate  position.  And  now  you're  back,  I'm 
afraid  it  will  be  worse." 

Thus  under  all  Agatha's  affection  there  ran  the  gene- 
ral hostihty  of  London.  Guilty  or  not,  I  had  offended 
her  in  her  most  deeply  rooted  susceptibilities,  and  as 
yet  she  only  knew  half  the  imbroglio  in  which  I  was 
enmeshed.  Over  coffee,  however,  she  began  to  take 
a  more  optimistic  view  of  affairs. 

"  After  all,  you'll  be  able  to  live  it  dow^n,"  she  said 
with  a  cheerful  air  of  patronage.  "  People  soon  forget. 
Before  the  year  is  out  you'll  be  going  about  just  as 
usual,  and  at  the  General  Election  you'll  find  a  seat 
somewhere." 

I  informed  her  that  I  had  given  up  politics.  What 
then,  she  asked,  would  I  do  for  an  occupation  ? 

"  Work  for  my  living,"  I  replied. 

"  Work  ?  "  She  arched  her  eyebrows,  as  if  it  were 
the  most  extraordinary  thing  a  man  could  do,  "  What 
kind  of  work  ?  " 

"  Road-sweeping  or  tax-collecting  or  envelope- 
addressing." 


234  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

She  selected  a  cigarette  from  the  silver  box  in  front  6f 
her,  and  did  not  reply  until  she  had  lit  it  and  inhaled  a 
puff  or  two. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  flippant,  Simon." 

From  this  remark  I  inferred  that  I  still  was  in  the 
criminal  dock  before  this  lady  Chief  Justice.  I  smiled  at 
the  airs  the  httle  woman  gave  herself  now  that  I  was  no 
longer  the  impeccable  and  irreproachable  dictator  of 
the  family.  Mine  was  the  experience  of  every  fallen 
tyrant  since  the  world  began. 

"  My  dear  Agatha,"  said  I,  "  I've  had  enough  shocks 
during  the  last  few  weeks  to  knock  the  flippancy  out  of  a 
congregational  minister.  In  November  I  was  con- 
demned to  die  within  six  months.  The  sentence  was 
final  and  absolute.  I  thought  I  would  do  the  kind  of 
good  one  can't  do  with  a  lifetime  in  front  of  one  and  I 
wasted  all  my  substance  in  riotous  giving.  In  the  ele- 
gant phraseology  of  high  society  I  am  stone-broke.  As 
my  training  has  not  fitted  me  to  earn  my  living  in  high- 
falutin  ways,  I  must  earn  it  in  some  humble  capacity. 
Therefore,  if  you  see  me  call  at  your  house  for  the 
water  rate,  you'll  understand  that  I  am  driven  to 
that  expedient  by  necessity  and  not  by  degrada- 
tion." 

Naturally  I  had  to  elaborate  this  succinct  statement 
before  my  sister  could  understand  its  full  significance. 
Then  dismay  overwhelmed  her.  Surely  something 
could  be  done.  The  fortunes  of  Jane  and  herself  were 
at  my  disposal  to  set  me  on  my  feet  again.  We  were 
brother  and  sisters  ;  what  was  theirs  was  mine  ;  they 
couldn't  see  me  starve.  I  thanked  her  for  her  affection 
— the  dear  creatures  would  unhesitatingly  have  let  me 
play  ducks  and  drakes  with  their  money — but  I  ex- 
plained that  though  poor,  I  was  still  proud  and  prized 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  235 

the  independence  of  the  tax-collector  above  the  position 
of  the  pensioner  of  Love's  bounty. 

"  Tom  must  get  you  something  to  do,"  she  declared. 

"  Tom  must  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Let  me  say  that 
once  and  for  all,"  I  returned  peremptorily.  "  I've  made 
my  position  clear  to  you,  because  you're  my  sister  and 
you  ought  to  be  spared  any  further  misinterpretation  of 
my  actions.  But  to  have  you  dear  people  intriguing 
after  billets  for  me  would  be  intolerable." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  cried,  wringing 
her  hands. 

*'  I'm  going  for  my  first  omnibus  ride  to-morrow," 
said  I  heroically. 

Upon  which  assertion  Rogers  entered  announcing 
that  her  ladyship's  carriage  had  arrived.  A  while  later 
I  accompanied  her  downstairs  and  along  the  arcade. 

"  I  shall  be  so  miserable,  thinking  of  you,  poor  old 
boy,"  she  said  affectionately  as  she  bade  me  good-bye. 

"  Don't,"  said  I.  "  I  am  going  to  enjoy  myself  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life." 

These  were  "  prave  'orts,"  but  I  felt  doleful  enough 
when  I  re-entered  the  chambers  where  I  had  lived  in 
uncomplaining  luxury  for  fourteen  years. 

"  There's  no  help  for  it,"  I  murmured.  "  I  must  get 
rid  of  the  remainder  of  my  lease,  sell  my  books  and 
pictures  and  other  more  or  less  expensive  household  gods, 
dismiss  Rogers  and  Bingley,  and  go  and  live  on  thirty 
shillings  a  week  in  a  Bloomsbury  boarding-house.  I 
think,"  I  continued,  regarding  myself  in  the  Queen  Anne 
mirror  over  the  mantelpiece,  "  I  think  that  it  will  better 
harmonise  with  my  fallen  fortunes  if  I  refrain  from  wax- 
ing the  ends  of  my  moustache.  There  ought  to  be  a 
modest  droop  about  the  moustache  of  a  tax-collector." 

The  next  morning  I  gave  my  servants  a  month's 


236  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

notice.  Rogers,  who  had  been  with  me  for  many  years, 
behaved  in  the  correctest  manner.  He  neither  offered 
to  lend  me  his  modest  savings  nor  to  work  for  me  for  no 
wages.  He  expressed  his  deep  regret  at  leaving  my  ser- 
vice and  his  confidence  that  I  would  give  him  a  good 
character.  Bingley  wept  after  the  way  of  women. 
There  was  also  a  shadowy  housemaidy  young  person  in 
a  cap  who  used  to  make  meteoric  appearances  and  whom 
I  left  to  the  diplomacy  of  Bingley.  These  dismal  rites 
performed,  I  put  my  chambers  into  the  hands  of  a  house 
agent  and  interviewed  a  firm  of  auctioneers  with  re- 
ference to  the  sale.  It  was  all  exceedingly  unpleasant. 
The  agent  was  so  anxious  to  let  my  chambers,  the  auc- 
tioneer so  delighted  at  the  chance  of  selling  my  effects, 
that  I  felt  myself  forthwith  turned  neck  and  crop  out  of 
doors.  It  was  a  bright  morning  in  early  spring,  with  a 
satirical  touch  of  hope  in  the  air.  London,  no  longer 
to  be  my  London,  maintained  its  hostile  attitude  to  me. 
If  any  one  had  prophesied  that  I  should  be  a  stranger 
in  Piccadilly,  I  should  have  laughed  aloud.     Yet  I  was. 

Walking  moodily  up  Saint  James's  Street  I  met  the 
omniscient  and  expansive  Renniker.  He  gave  me  a 
curt  nod  and  a  "  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  and  passed  on.  I 
felt  savagely  disposed  to  slash  his  jaunty  silk  hat  off 
with  my  walking-stick.  A  few  months  before  he  would 
have  rushed  effusively  into  my  arms  and  bedaubed  me 
with  miscellaneous  inaccuracies  of  information.  At 
first  I  was  furiously  indignant.  Then  I  laughed,  and 
swinging  my  stick  nearly  wreaked  my  vengeance  on  a 
harmless  elderly  gentleman. 

It  was  my  first  experience  of  social  ostracism.  Al- 
though I  curled  a  contumelious  lip,  I  smarted  under  the 
indignity.  It  was  all  very  well  to  say  proudly  "  io  soil* 
io'"  ;   but  io  used  to  be  a  person  of  some  importance 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  237 

who  was  not  cavalierly  "  how  d'ye  do'd  "  by  creatures 
like  Rennikcr.  This  and  the  chance  encounters  of  the 
next  few  weeks  gave  me  furiously  to  think.  I  knew  that 
in  one  respect  my  sister  Agatha  was  right.  These  good 
folk  who  shied  now  at  the  stains  of  murder  with  which 
my  reputation  was  soiled  would  in  time  get  used  to 
them  and  eventually  forget  them  altogether.  But  I  re- 
flected that  I  should  not  forget,  and  I  determined  that 
I  should  not  be  admitted  on  sufferance,  as  at  first  I 
should  have  to  be  admitted,  into  any  man's  club  or  any 
woman's  drawing-room. 

One  day  Colonel  Ellerton,  Maisie  Ellerton's  father, 
called  on  me.  He  used  to  be  my  very  good  friend  ;  we 
sat  on  the  same  side  of  the  House  and  voted  together  on 
innumerable  occasions  in  perfect  sympathy  and  com- 
mon lack  of  conviction.  He  was  cordial  enough,  con- 
gratulated me  on  my  marvellous  restoration  to  health, 
deplored  my  absence  from  Parliamentary  life,  and  then 
began  to  talk  confusedly  of  Russia.  It  took  Httle  per- 
spicacity to  see  that  something  was  weighing  on  the 
good  man's  mind  ;  something  he  had  come  to  say  and 
for  his  honest  life  could  not  get  out.  His  phght 
became  more  pitiable  as  the  interview  proceeded,  and 
when  he  rose  to  go,  he  grew  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock  and 
began  to  splutter.     I  went  to  his  rescue. 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  have  come  to' see  me, 
Ellerton,"  I  said,  "  but  if  I  don't  call  yet  awhile  to  pay 
my  respects  to  your  wife,  I  hope  you'll  understand,  and 
not  attribute  it  to  discourtesy." 

I  have  never  seen  rehef  so  clearly  depicted  on  a  human 
countenance.  He  drew  a  long  breath  and  instinctively 
passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  forehead.  Then  he 
grasped  my  hand. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  "  of  course  we'll  under- 


238  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

stand.  It  was  a  shocking  affair — terrible  for  you.  My 
wife  and  I  were  quite  bowled  over  by  it." 

I  did  not  attempt  to  clear  myself.  What  was  the 
use  ?  Every  man  denies  these  things  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  nobody  believes  him. 

Once  I  ran  across  Elphin  Montgomery,  a  mysterious 
personage  behind  many  musical  comedy  enterprises. 
He  is  jewelled  all  over  like  a  first-class  Hindoo  idol,  and 
is  treated  as  a  god  in  fashionable  restaurants,  where  he 
entertains  riff-raff  at  sumptuous  banquets.  I  had  some 
slight  acquaintance  with  the  fellow,  but  he  greeted  me 
as  though  I  were  a  long-lost  intimate — his  heavy  sen- 
sual face  swagged  in  smiles — and  invited  me  to  a  supper- 
party.  I  declined  with  courtesy  and  walked  away  in 
fury.  He  would  not  have  presumed  to  ask  me  to  meet 
his  riff-raff  before  I  became  disgustingly,  and  I  suppose 
to  some  minds  fascinatingly,  notorious.  But  now  I  was 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  him,  a  bird  of  his  own  feather, 
a  rogue  of  his  own  kidney,  to  whom  he  threw  open  the 
gates  of  his  bediamonded  and  befrilled  Alsatia.  A 
pestilential  fellow  !  As  if  I  would  mortgage  my  birth- 
right for  such  a  mess  of  pottage  ! 

So  I  stiffened  and  bade  Society  high  and  low  go  pack- 
ing. I  would  neither  seek  mine  own  people,  nor  allow 
myself  to  be  sought  by  Elphin  Montgomery's.  I 
enwrapped  myself  in  a  fine  garment  of  defiance.  My 
sister  Jane,  who  was  harder  and  more  worldly  minded 
than  Agatha,  would  have  had  me  don  a  helmet  of  brass 
and  a  breastplate  of  rhinoceros  hide  and  force  my  way 
through  reluctant  portals  ;  but  Agatha  agreed  with  me, 
clinging,  however,  to  the  hope  that  time  would  not  only 
reconcile  Society  to  me,  but  would  also  reconcile  me  to 
Society. 

"  If  the  hope  comforts  you,  my  dear  Agatha,"  said  I, 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  239 

"  by  all  means  cherish  it.  In  the  meantime,  allow  me 
to  observe  that  the  character  of  Ishmael  is  eminently 
suited  to  the  profession  of  tax-collecting." 

During  these  early  days  of  my  return  the  one  person 
with  whom  I  had  no  argument  was  Lola.  She  soothed 
where  others  scratched,  and  stimulated  where  others 
goaded.  The  intimacy  of  my  convalescence  continued. 
At  first  I  acquainted  her,  as  far  as  was  reasonably 
necessary,  with  my  change  of  fortune,  and  accepted 
her  offer  to  find  me  less  expensive  quarters.  The  de- 
voted woman  personally  inspected  every  flat  in  London, 
with  that  insistence  of  which  masculine  patience  is 
incapable,  and  eventually  decided  on  a  tiny  bachelor 
suite  somewhere  in  the  clouds  over  a  block  of  flats  in 
Victoria  Street  where  the  service  is  included  in  the  rent. 
Into  this  I  moved  with  such  of  my  furniture  as  I  with- 
drew from  the  auctioneer's  hammer,  and  there  I  pre- 
pared to  stay  until  necessity  should  drive  me  to  the 
Bloomsbury  boarding-house.  I  thought  I  would 
graduate  my  descent.  Before  I  moved,  however,  she 
came  to  the  Albany  for  the  first  and  only  time  to  see  the 
splendour  I  was  about  to  quit.  In  a  modest  way  it  was 
splendour.  My  chambers  were  really  a  large  double 
flat  to  the  tasteful  furnishing  of  which  I  had  devoted  the 
thought  and  interest  of  many  years.  She  went  with 
me  through  the  rooms.  The  dining-room  was  all 
Chippendale,  each  piece  a  long-coveted  and  hunted 
treasure  ;  the  library  old  oak  ;  the  drawing-room  a 
comfortable  and  cunning  medley.  There  were  bits  of 
old  China,  pieces  of  tapestry,  some  rare  prints,  my 
choice  collection  of  mezzotints,  a  picture  or  two  of 
value — one  a  Lancret,  a  very  dear  possession.  And 
there  were  my  books — once  I  had  a  passion  for  rare 
bindings.     Everything  had  to  me  a  personal  signifi- 


240  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

cance,  and  I  hated  the  idea  of  surrender  more  than  I 
dared  to  confess  even  to  myself.     But  I  said  to  Lola  : 

"  Vanity  of  vanities  !  All  things  expensive  are 
vanity  !  " 

Her  eyes  glistened  and  she  slipped  her  arm  through 
mine  and  patted  the  back  of  my  hand, 

"  If  you  talk  hke  that  I  shall  cry  and  make  a  fool  of 
myself,"  she  said  in  a  broken  manner. 

It  is  not  so  much  the  thing  that  is  done  or  the  thing 
that  is  said  that  matters,  but  the  way  of  doing  or  saying 
it.  In  the  commonplace  pat  on  the  hand,  in  the  break 
in  the  commonplace  words  there  was  something  that 
went  straight  to  my  heart.  I  squeezed  her  arm  and 
whispered  : 

"  Thank  you,  dear." 

This  sympathy  so  sure  and  yet  so  delicately  conveyed 
was  mine  for  the  trouble  of  mounting  the  stairs  that  led 
to  her  drawing-room  in  Cadogan  Gardens.  She  seemed 
to  be  watching  my  heart  the  whole  time,  so  that  without 
my  asking,  without  my  knowledge  even,  she  could  touch 
each  sore  spot  as  it  appeared  with  a  healing  finger. 
For  herself  she  made  no  claims,  and  because  she  did 
not  in  any  way  declare  herself  to  be  unhappy,  I,  after 
the  manner  of  men,  took  her  happiness  for  granted. 
For  lives  there  a  man  who  does  not  believe  that  an  un- 
complaining woman  has  nothing  to  complain  of  ?  It  is 
his  masculine  prerogative  of  density.  Besides,  does  not 
he  himself  when  hurt  bellow  like  a  bull  ?  Why,  he 
argues,  should  not  wounded  woman  do  the  same  ?  So, 
when  I  wanted  companionship,  I  used  to  sit  in  the 
familiar  room  and  make  Adolphus,  the  Chow  dog, 
shoulder  arms  with  the  poker,  and  gossip  restfully  with 
Lola,  who  sprawled  in  her  old  languorous,  loose-limbed 
way  among  the  cushions  of  her  easy  chair.     Gradually 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  241 

my  habitual  reserve  melted  from  me,  and  at  last  I  gave 
her  my  whole  confidence,  telHng  her  of  my  disastrous 
pursuit  of  e-umoiriety,  of  Eleanor  Faversham,  of  the 
attitude  of  Society,  in  fact,  of  most  of  what  I  have  set 
down  in  the  preceding  pages.  She  was  greatly  inte- 
rested in  everything,  especially  in  Eleanor  Faversham. 
She  wanted  to  know  the  colour  of  her  eyes  and  hair  and 
how  she  dressed.     Women  arc  odd  creatures. 

The  weeks  passed. 

Besides  ministering  to  my  dilapidated  spirit,  Lola 
found  occupation  in  looking  after  the  cattery  of  Anas- 
tasius  Papadopoulos,  which  the  little  man  had  left  in  the 
charge  of  his  pupil  and  assistant,  Quast.  This  Quast 
apparently  was  a  faithful,  stolid,  but  unintelligent  and 
incapable  German  who  had  remained  loyally  at  his  post 
untilLola  found  him  there  in  a  state  of  semi-starvation. 
The  sum  of  money  with  which  Anastasius  had  provided 
him  had  been  eked  out  to  the  last  farthing.  The  cats 
were  in  a  pitiable  condition.  Quast,  in  despair,  was  try- 
ing to  make  up  his  dull  mind  whether  to  sell  them  or  eat 
them.  Lola,  with  superb  feminine  disregard  of  legal 
rights,  annexed  the  whole  cattery,  maintained  Quast 
in  his  position  of  pupil  and  assistant  and  informed  the 
landlord  that  she  would  be  responsible  for  the  rent. 
Then  she  set  to  work  to  bring  the  cats  into  their  proper 
condition  of  sleekness,  and,  that  done,  to  put  them 
through  a  systematic  course  of  training.  They  had 
been  thoroughly  demoralised,  she  declared,  under 
Quast's  maladministration,  and  had  almost  degenerated 
into  the  unhistrionic  pussies  of  domestic  life.  As  for 
Hephaestus,  the  great  ferocious  tom,  he  was  more  like  an 
insane  tiger  than  a  cat.  He  flew  at  the  gate  over  which 
he  used  to  jump,  and  clawed  and  bit  it  to  matchwood, 
and  after  spitting  in  fury  at  the  blazing  hoop,  sprang  at 

Q 


242  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

the  unhappy  Quast  as  if  he  had  been  the  contriver  of 
the  indignities  to  which  he  was  being]subjected.  These 
tales  of  fehne  backsHding  I  used  to  hear  from  Lola,  and 
when  I  asked  her  why  she  devoted  her  energies  to  the 
unproductive  education  of  the  uninspiring  animals, 
she  would  shrug  her  shoulders  and  regard  me  with  a 
Giaconda  smile. 

"  In  the  first  place  it  amuses  me.  You  seem  to  for- 
get I'm  a  dompteuse,  a  tamer  of  beasts  ;  it's  my  pro- 
ession,  I  was  trained  to  it.  It's  the  only  thing  I  can  do, 
and  it's  good  to  feel  that  I  haven't  lost  my  power.  It's 
odd,  but  I  feel  a  different  woman  when  I'm  impressing 
my  will  on  these  wretched  cats.  You  must  come  one  of 
these  days  and  see  a  performance,  when  I've  got  them 
shipshape.  They'll  astonish  you.  And  then,"  she 
would  add,  "  I  can  write  to  Anastasius  and  tell  him  how 
his  beloved  cats  are  getting  on." 

Well,  it  was  an  interest  in  her  life  which,  Heaven 
knows,  was  not  crowded  with  exciting  incidents.  Now 
that  I  can  look  back  on  these  things  with  a  philosophic 
eye,  I  can  imagine  no  drearier  existence  than  that  of  a 
friendless,  unoccupied  woman  in  a  flat  in  Cadogan 
Gardens.  At  that  time,  I  did  not  realise  this  as  com- 
pletely as  I  might  have  done.  Because  her  old  surgeon 
friend,  Sir  Joshua  Oldfield,  now  and  then  took  her  out 
to  dinner,  I  considered  she  was  leading  a  cheerful  if  not 
a  merry  life.  I  smiled  indulgently  at  Lola's  devotion 
to  the  cats  and  congratulated  her  on  having  found 
another  means  whereby  to  beguile  the  tcedium  vitce  which 
is  the  arch-enemy  of  content. 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  such  a  means  myself,"  said  I. 

I  not  only  had  the  wish,  but  the  imperative  need  to  do 
so.  To  stand  like  Ajax  defying  the  lightning  is  magnifi- 
cent :   but  as  a  continuous  avocation  it  is  wearisome 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  243 

and  unprofitable,  especially  if  carried  on  in  a  tiny 
bachelor  suite,  an  eyrie  of  a  place,  at  the  top  of  a  block 
of  flats  in  Victoria  Street.  Indeed,  if  I  did  not  add  soon 
to  the  meagre  remains  of  my  fortune,  I  should  not  be 
able  to  afford  the  luxury  of  the  bachelor  suite.  Con- 
scious of  this,  I  left  the  hghtning  alone,  after  a  last  de- 
nunciatory shake  of  the  fist,  and  descended  into  the 
busy  waj^s  of  men  to  look  for  work. 

Thus  I  entered  on  the  second  stage  of  my  career — 
that  of  a  soldier  of  Fortune.  At  first  I  was  doubtful  as 
to  what  path  to  glory  and  bread  and  butter  I  could 
carve  out  for  myself.  Hitherto  I  had  been  Fortune's 
darling  instead  of  her  mercenary,  and  she  had  most 
politely  carved  out  my  paths  for  me,  until  she  had 
played  her  jade's  trick  and  left  me  in  the  ditch.  Now 
things  were  different.  I  stood  alone,  ironical,  ambition- 
less,  still  questioning  the  utility  of  human  effort,  yet 
determined  to  play  the  game  of  life  to  its  bitter  end. 
What  could  I  do  ? 

It  is  true  that  I  had  been  called  to  the  Bar  in  my 
tentative  youth,  while  I  drafted  documents  for  my 
betters  to  pull  to  pieces  and  rewrite  at  the  Foreign 
Office  ;  but  I  had  never  seen  a  brief,  and  my  memories 
of  Gaius,  Justinian,  Williams's  "  Real  Property,"  and 
Austin's  "Jurisprudence"  were  as  nebulous  as  those 
of  the  Differential  Calculus  over  whose  facetiae  I  had 
pondered  during  my  schooldays.  The  law  was  as  closed 
to  me  as  medicine.  I  had  no  profession.  I  therefore 
drifted  into  the  one  pursuit  for  which  my  training  had 
qualified  me  namely,  political  journalism.  I  had 
written  much,  in  my  amateur  way,  during  my  ten  years' 
membership  of  Parliament  ;  why,  I  hardly  know — not 
because  I  needed  money,  not  because  I  had  thoughts 
which  I  burned  to  express,  and  certainly  not  through 


244  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

vain  desire  of  notoriety.  Perhaps  the  motive  was  two- 
fold, an  ingrained  Puckish  delight  in  the  incongruous — 
it  seemed  incongruous  for  an  airy  epicurean  like  myself 
to  spend  stodgy  hours  writing  stodgier  articles  on 
Pauper  Lunacy  and  Poor  Law  Administration — and 
the  same  inherited  sense  of  gentlemanly  obligation  to 
do  something  for  one's  king  and  country  as  made  my 
ancestors,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not,  clothe  themselves 
in  uncomfortable  iron  garments  and  go  about  fighting 
other  gentlemen  similarly  clad,  to  their  own  great 
personal  danger.  At  any  rate,  it  complemented  my 
work  at  St.  Stephen's,  and  doubtless  contributed  to  a 
reputation  in  the  House  which  I  did  not  gain  through 
my  oratory.  I  could  the*"efore  bring  to  editors  the 
stock-in-trade  of  a  fairly  accurate  knowledge  of  current 
political  issues,  an  appreciation  of  personalities,  and  a 
philosophical,  subrident  estimate  of  the  bubbles  that  are 
for  ever  rising  on  the  political  surface.  I  found  Finch 
of  The  Universal  Review,  James  of  The  Weekly,  and  one  or 
two  others  more  than  willing  to  give  me  employment. 
I  put  my  pen  also  at  the  disposal  of  Raggles.  It  was  as 
uplifting  and  about  as  mechanical  as  tax-collecting  ; 
but  it  involved  less  physical  exertion  and  less  unpleasant 
contact  with  my  fellow-creatures.  I  could  also  keep 
the  ends  of  my  moustache  waxed,  which  was  a  great 
consolation. 

My  sister  Agatha  commended  my  courage  and  energy, 
and  Lola  read  my  articles  with  a  glowing  enthusiasm, 
which  compensated  for  lack  of  exact  understanding  ; 
but  I  was  not  proud  of  my  position.  It  is  one  thing  to 
stand  at  the  top  of  a  marble  staircase  and  in  a  debonair, 
jesting  fashion  to  fling  insmcere  convictions  to  a 
recipient  world.  It  is  another  to  sell  the  same  worthless 
commodity  for  money.  I  began,  to  my  curious  dis- 
comfort, to  suspect  that  life  had  a  meaning  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

One  day  I  had  walked  from  Cadogan  Gardens  with  a 
gadfly  phrase  of  Lola's  tormenting  my  ears  : 

"  You're  not  quite  alive  even  yet." 

I  had  spent  most  of  the  day  over  a  weekly  article  for 
James's  high-toned  periodical,  using  the  same  old 
shibboleths,  proclaiming  Gilead  to  be  the  one  place  for 
balm,  juggling  with  the  same  old  sophistries,  and 
proving  that  Pope  must  hasve  been  out  of  his  mind 
when  he  declared  that  an  honest  man  was  the  noblest 
work  of  God,  seeing  that  nobler  than  the  most  honest 
man  was  the  disingenuous  government  held  up  to 
eulogy ;  and  I  had  gone  tired,  dispirited,  out  of  conceit 
with  myself  to  Lola  for  tea  and  consolation.  I  had  not 
been  the  merriest  company.  I  had  spoken  gloomily  of 
the  cosmos,  and  when  Adolphus  the  Chow  dog  had 
walked  down  the  room  on  his  hind  legs,  I  had  railed  at 
the  futility  of  canine  effort.  To  Lola,  who  had  put 
forth  all  her  artillery  of  artless  and  harmless  coquetry 
in  voice  and  gesture,  in  order  to  lure  my  thoughts  into 
pleasanter  ways,  I  exhibited  the  querulous  grumpiness 
of  a  spoiled  village  octogenarian.  We  discussed  the 
weather, which  was  worth  discussing,  for  the  spring,  after 
long  tarrying,  had  come.  It  was  early  May.  Lola 
laughed. 

"  The  spring  has  got  into  my  blood." 

"  It  hasn't  got  into  mine,"  I  declared.  "  It  never 
will.     I  wonder  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  me." 

Then  Lola  had  said,  "  My  dear  Simon,  I  know. 
You're  not  quite  alive  even  yet." 

-45 


246  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  walked  homewards  pestered  by  the  phrase.  What 
did  she  mean  by  it  ?  I  stopped  at  the  island  round  the 
clock-tower  by  Victoria  Station  and  bought  a  couple  of 
newspapers.  There,  in  the  centre  of  the  whirlpool  where 
swam  dizzily  omnibuses,  luggage-laden  cabs,  whirling 
motors,  feverish,  train-seeking  humans,  dirty  newsboys, 
I  stood  absently  saying  to  myself,  "  You're  not  quite 
alive  even  yet." 

A  hand  gripped  my  arm  and  a  cheery  voice  said 
"  Hallo  !  "  I  started  and  recognised  Rex  Campion.  I 
also  said  "  Hallo  !  "  and  shook  hands  with  him.  We 
had  not  met  since  the  day  when,  having  heard  of  my 
Monte  Cristo  lavishness,  he  had  called  at  the  Albany 
and  had  beguiled  me  into  giving  a  thousand  pounds  to 
his  beloved  "  Barbara's  Building,"  the  prodigious 
philanthropic  institution  which  he  had  founded  in  the 
slums  of  South  Lambeth.  In  spite  of  my  dead  and 
dazed  state  of  being  I  was  pleased  to  see  his  saturnine 
black-bearded  face,  and  to  hear  his  big  voice.  He  was 
one  of  those  men  who  always  talked  like  a  megaphone. 
The  porticoes  of  Victoria  Station  re-echoed  with  his 
salutations.  I  greeted  him  less  vociferously,  but  with 
equal  cordiality. 
^    I  said  "  Hallo  !  " 

"  You're  looking  very  fit.  I  heard  that  you  had 
gone  through  a  miraculous  operation.     How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well,"  said  I,  "  but  I've  been  told  that 
I'm  not  quite  alive  even  yet." 

He  looked  anxious.     "  Remains  of  trouble  ?  " 

"  Not  a  vestige,"  I  laughed. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  breezily.  "  Now  come 
along  and  hear  Milligan  speak." 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  I  might  have  work, 
worries,  or  engagements,  or  that  the  evening's  enter- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  247 

tainment  which  he  offered  me  might  be  the  last  thing 
I  should  appreciate.  His  head,  for  the  moment,  was 
full  of  Milligan,  and  it  seemed  to  him  only  natund  that 
the  head  of  all  humanity  should  be  full  of  Milligan  too. 
I  made  a  wry  face. 

"  That  son  of  thunder  ?  " 

Milligan  was  a  demagogue  who  had  twice  unsuccess- 
fully attempted  to  get  into  Parliament  in  the  Labour 
interest. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  him  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  I  in  my  pride. 

"  Then  come.  He's  speaking  in  the  Hall  of  the  Lam- 
beth Ethical  Society." 

I  was  tempted,  as  I  wanted  company.  In  spite  of  my 
high  resolve  to  out-Ishmael  Ishmael,  I  could  not  kill  a 
highly  developed  gregarious  instinct.  I  also  wanted  a 
text  for  an  article.  But  I  wanted  my  dinner  still  more. 
Campion  condemned  the  idea  of  dinner. 

"  You  can  have  a  cold  supper,"  he  roared,  "  like  the 
rest  of  us." 

I  yielded.  Campion  dragged  me  helpless  to  a  tram 
at  the  top  of  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road. 

"  It  will  do  Your  Mightiness  good  to  mingle  with  the 
proletariat,"  he  grinned. 

I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  had  been  mingling  with  it  in 
this  manner  for  some  time  past  or  that  I  repudiated  the 
suggestion  of  its  benign  influence.  I  entered  the  tram 
meekly.     As  soon  as  we  were  seated,  he  began  : 

"  I  bet  you  won't  guess  what  I've  done  with  your 
thousand  pounds.     I'll  give  you  a  mUlion  guesses." 

As  I  am  a  poor  conjecturer,  I  put  on  a  blank  expres- 
sion and  shook  my  head.  He  waited  for  an  instant,  and 
then  shouted  with  an  air  of  triumph  : 

"  I've  founded  a  prize,  my  boy — a  stroke  of  genius. 


248  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I've  called  it  by  your  name,  '  The  de  Gex  Prize  for 
Housewives.'  I  didn't  bother  you  about  it  as  I  knew 
you  were  in  a  world  of  worry.  But  just  think  of  it. 
An  annual  prize  of  thirty  pounds — practically  the 
interest — for  housewives  !  " 

His  eyes  flashed  in  his  enthusiasm ;  he  brought  his 
heavy  hand  down  on  my  knee. 

"  Well  ?  "  I  asked,  not  electrified  by  this  announce- 
ment. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  throw  the 
competition  open  to  the  women  in  the  district,  with 
certain  qualifications,  you  know — I  look  after  all  that. 
They  enter  their  names  by  a  given  date  and  then  they 
start  fair.  The  woman  who  keeps  her  home  tidiest 
and  her  children  cleanest  collars  the  prize.  Isn't  it 
splendid  ?  " 

I  agreed.  "  How  many  competitors  ?  " 
"  Forty-three.  And  there  they  are  working  away, 
sweeping  their  floors  and  putting  up  clean  curtains  and 
scrubbing  their  children's  noses  till  they  shine  like 
rubies  and  making  their  homes  like  little  Dutch  pictures. 
You  see,  thirty  pounds  is  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  money  for 
poor  people.  As  one  mother  of  a  large  family  said  to  me, 
'  With  that  one  could  bury  them  all  quite  beautiful.'  " 
"  You're  a  wonderful  fellow,"  said  I,  somewhat 
enviously. 

He  gave  an  awkward  laugh  and  tugged  at  his  beard. 
"  I've  only  happened  to  find  my  job,  and  am  doing 
it  as  well  as  I  can,"  he  said.  "  'Tisn't  very  much,  after 
all.  Sometimes  one  gets  discouraged  ;  people  are  such 
ungrateful  pigs,  but  now  and  again  one  does  help  a  lame 
dog  over  a  stile  which  bucks  one  up,  you  know.  Why 
don't  you  come  down  and  have  a  look  at  us  one  of  these 
days  ?     You've  been  promising  to  do  so  for  years." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  249 

"  I  will,"  said  I  with  sudden  interest. 

"  You  can  have  a  peep  at  one  or  two  of  the  competing 
homes.  We  pop  into  them  unexpectedly,  at  all  hours. 
That's  part  of  the  game.  We've  a  complicated  system 
of  marks  which  I'll  show  you.  Of  course,  no  woman 
knows  how  she's  getting  on,  otherwise  many  would  lose 
heart." 

"  How  do  the  men  like  this  disconcerting  ubiquity  of 
soap  and  water  ?  " 

"  They  love  it !  "  he  cried.  "  They're  keen  on  the 
prize  too.  Some  think  they'll  grab  the  lot  and  have 
the  devil's  own  drunk  when  the  year's  up.  But  I'll 
look  after  that.  Besides,  when  a  chap  has  been  living 
in  the  pride  of  cleanliness  for  a  year  he'll  get  into  the 
way  of  it  and  be  less  likely  to  make  a  beast  of  himself. 
Anyway,  I  hope  for  the  best.  My  God,  de  Gex,  if  I 
didn't  hope  and  hope  and  hope,"  he  cried  earnestly,  "  I 
don't  know  how  I  should  get  through  with  it.  I  don't 
know  how  any  one  can  get  through  anything  without 
hope  and  a  faith  in  the  ultimate  good  of  things." 

"  The  same  inconvincible  optimist  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes.     Thank  Heaven.     And  you  ?  " 

I  paused.  There  came  a  self-revelatory  flash.  "  At 
the  present  moment,"  I  said,  "  I'm  a  perfectly  con- 
vincible  vacuist." 

We  left  the  tram  and  the  main  thoroughfare,  and 
turned  into  frowsy  streets,  peopled  with  frowsy  men 
and  women  and  raucous  with  the  bickering  play  of 
frowsy  children.  It  was  still  daylight.  Over  London 
the  spring  had  fluttered  its  golden  pinions,  and  I  knew 
that  in  more  blessed  quarters — m  the  great  parks,  in 
Piccadilly,  in  Old  Palace  Yard,  half  a  mile  away — its 
fragrance  lingered,  quickening  blood  already  quickened 
by  hope,  and  making  happier  hearts  already  happy. 


250  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

But  here  the  ray  of  spring  had  never  penetrated  either 
that  day  or  the  days  of  former  springs  ;  so  there  was  no 
lingering  fragrance.  Here  no  one  heeded  the  aspects 
of  the  changing  year  save  when  suffocated  by  sweltering 
heat,  or  frozen  in  the  bitter  cold,  or  drenched  by  the 
pouring  rain.  Otherwise  in  these  grey,  frowsy  streets, 
spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter  were  all  the  same  to 
the  grey,  frowsy  people.  It  is  true  that  youth  laughed 
— pale,  animal  boys,  and  pale,  flat-chested  girls.  But 
it  laughed  chiefly  at  inane  obscenity. 

One  of  these  days,  when  phonography  is  as  practicable 
as  photography,  some  one  will  make  accurate  records 
in  these  frowsy  streets,  and  then,  after  the  manner  of 
the  elegant  writers  of  Bucolics  and  Pastorals,  publish 
such  a  series  of  Urbanics  and  Pavimentals,  phono- 
graphic dialogues  between  the  Colins  and  Dulcibellas  of 
the  pavement  and  the  gutter  as  will  freeze  up  Hell  with 
horror. 

An  anaemic,  flirtatious  group  passed  us,  the  girls  in 
front,  the  boys  behind. 

"  Good  God,  Campion,  what  can  you  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Pity  them,  old  chap,"  he  returned  quickly. 

"  What's  the  good  of  that  ?  " 

"  Good  ?  Oh,  I  see  !  "  He  laughed,  with  a  touch  of 
scorn.  "  It's  a  question  of  definition.  When  you  see 
a  fellow-creature  suffering  and  it  shocks  your  refined 
susceptibilities  and  you  say  *  poor  devil '  and  pass  on, 
you  think  you  have  pitied  him.  But  you  haven't.  You 
think  pity's  a  passive  virtue.  It  isn't.  If  you  really 
pity  anybody,  you  go  mad  to  help  him — you  don't  stand 
by  with  the  tears  of  sensibility  running  down  your 
cheeks.  You  stretch  out  your  hand,  because  you've 
damn  well  got  to.  If  he  won't  take  it,  or  wipes  you 
over  the  head,  that's  his  look-out.     You  can't  work 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  251 

miracles.  But  once  in  a  way  he  does  take  it,  and  then 
— well,  you  work  like  hell  to  pull  him  through.  And  if 
you  do,  what  bigger  thing  is  there  in  the  world  than  the 
salvation  of  a  human  soul  ?  " 

"It's  worth  living  for,"  said  I. 

"  It's  worth  doing  any  confounded  old  thing  for,"  he 
declared. 

I  envied  Campion  as  I  had  envied  no  man  before.  He 
was  alive  in  heart  and  soul  and  brain  ;  I  was  not  quite 
alive  even  yet.  But  I  felt  better  for  meeting  him.  I 
told  him  so.     He  tugged  his  beard  again  and  laughed. 

"I  am  a  happy  old  crank.  Perhaps  that's  the 
reason." 

At  the  door  of  the  hall  of  the  Lambeth  Ethical  Society 
he  stopped  short  and  turned  on  me  ;  his  jaw  dropped 
and  he  regarded  me  in  dismay. 

"  I'm  the  flightiest  and  feather-headedest  ass  that 
ever  brayed,"  he  informed  me.  "  I  just  remember  I 
sent  Miss  Faversham  a  ticket  for  this  meeting  about  a 
fortnight  ago.  I  had  clean  forgotten  it,  though  some- 
thing uncomfortable  has  been  tickling  the  back  of  my 
head  all  the  time.     I'm  miserably  sorry." 

I  hastened  to  reassure  him.  "  Miss  Faversham  and 
I  are  still  good  friends.  I  don't  think  she'll  mind  my 
nodding  to  her  from  the  other  side  of  the  room."  In- 
deed, she  had  written  me  one  or  two  letters  since  my 
recovery  perfect  in  tact  and  sympathy,  and  had  put  her 
loyal  friendship  at  my  service. 

"  Even  if  we  meet,"  I  smiled,  "  nothing  tragic  will 
happen." 

He  expressed  his  relief. 

"  But  what,"  I  asked,  "  is  Miss  Faversham  doing  in 
this  galley  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  is  displaying  an  intelligent  interest  in 


252  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

modern  thought,"  he  said,  with  boyish  delight  at  the 
chance  I  had  offered  him. 

"  Toiiche,"  said  I,  with  a  bow,  and  we  entered  the 
hall. 

It  was  crowded.  The  audience  consisted  of  the  better 
class  of  artisans,  tradesmen,  and  foremen  in  factories  ; 
there  was  a  sprinkling  of  black-coated  clerks  and  un- 
skilled labouring  men.  A  few  women's  hats  sprouted 
here  and  there  among  the  men's  heads  like  weeds  in  a 
desert.  There  were  women,  too,  in  proportionately 
greater  numbers,  on  the  platform  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
and  among  them  I  was  quick  to  notice  Eleanor  Faver- 
sham.  As  Campion  disliked  platforms  and  high  places 
in  synagogues,  we  sat  on  one  of  the  benches  near  the 
door.  He  explained  it  was  also  out  of  consideration 
for  me. 

"  If  Milligan  is  too  strong  for  your  proud,  aristocratic 
stomach,"  he  whispered,  "  you  can  cut  and  run  without 
attracting  attention." 

Milligan  had  evidently  just  begun  his  discourse.  I 
had  not  listened  to  him  for  five  minutes  when  I  found 
myself  caught  in  the  grip  which  he  was  famous  for 
fastening  on  his  audience.  With  his  subject — Nation- 
alisation of  the  Land — and  his  arguments  I  had  been 
perfectly  familiar  for  years.  As  a  boy  I  had  read 
Henry  George's  "  Progress  and  Poverty "  with  the 
superciliousness  of  the  young  believer  in  the  divine 
right  of  Britain's  landed  gentry,  and  before  the  Eton 
Debating  Society  I  had  demolished  the  whole  theory  to 
my  own  and  every  one  else's  satisfaction.  Later,  as  a 
practical  politician,  I  had  kept  myself  abreast  of  the 
Socialist  movement,  I  did  not  need  Mr.  John  Milligan, 
whom  my  lingering  flippancy  had  called  a  son  of  thun- 
der, to  teach  me  the  elements  of  the  matter.     But  at 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  253 

this  peculiar  crisis  of  my  life  I  felt  that,  in  a  queer,  un- 
known way,  Milligan  had  a  message  for  me.  It  was 
uncanny.  I  sat  and  listened  to  the  exposition  of  Utopia 
with  the  rapt  intensity  of  any  cheesemonger's  assistant 
there  before  whose  captured  spirit  floated  the  vision  of 
days  to  come  when  the  land  should  so  flow  with  milk 
and  money  that  golden  cheeses  would  be  had  like  butter- 
cups for  the  plucking.  It  was  not  the  man's  gospel 
that  fascinated  me,  not  his  illuminated  prophecy  of  the 
millennium  that  produced  the  vibrations  in  my  soul,  but 
the  surging  passion  of  his  faith,  the  tempest  of  his  en- 
thusiasm. I  had  enough  experience  of  public  speaking 
to  distinguish  between  the  theatrical  and  the  genuine  in 
oratory.  Here  was  no  tub-thumping  soothsayer,  but 
an  inspired  zealot.  He  lived  his  impassioned  creed  in 
every  fibre  of  his  frame  and  faculties.  He  was  Titanic, 
this  rough  miner,  in  his  unconquerable  hope,  divine  in 
his  yearning  love  of  humanity. 

When  he  ended  there  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  second, 
and  then  a  roar  of  applause  from  the  pale,  earnest,  city- 
stamped  faces.  A  lump  rose  in  my  throat.  Campion 
clutched  my  knee.     A  light  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well  ?     What   about   Boanerges  ?  " 

"  Only  one  thing,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  I  were  as  alive 
as  that  man." 

A  negligible  person  proposed  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
Milligan,  after  which  the  hall  began  to  empty.  Cam- 
pion, caught  by  a  group  of  his  proletariat  friends, 
signalled  to  me  to  wait  for  him.  And  as  I  waited  I 
saw  Eleanor  Faversham  come  slowly  from  the  platform 
dowTi  the  central  gangway.  Her  eyes  fixed  themselves 
on  me  at  once — for  standing  there  alone  I  must  have 
been  a  conspicuous  figure,  an  intruder  from  the  gorgeous 
West — and  with  a  little  start  of  pleasure  she  hurried 


252  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

modern  thought,"  he  said,  with  boyish  dehght  at  the 
chance  I  had  offered  him. 

"  Toiiche,"  said  I,  with  a  bow,  and  we  entered  the 
hall. 

It  was  crowded.  The  audience  consisted  of  the  better 
class  of  artisans,  tradesmen,  and  foremen  in  factories ; 
there  was  a  sprinkling  of  black-coated  clerks  and  un- 
skilled labouring  men.  A  few  women's  hats  sprouted 
here  and  there  among  the  men's  heads  like  weeds  in  a 
desert.  There  were  women,  too,  in  proportionately 
greater  numbers,  on  the  platform  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
and  among  them  I  was  quick  to  notice  Eleanor  Faver- 
sham.  As  Campion  disliked  platforms  and  high  places 
in  synagogues,  we  sat  on  one  of  the  benches  near  the 
door.  He  explained  it  was  also  out  of  consideration 
for  me. 

"  If  Milligan  is  too  strong  for  your  proud,  aristocratic 
stomach,"  he  whispered,  "  you  can  cut  and  run  without 
attracting  attention." 

Milligan  had  evidently  just  begun  his  discourse.  I 
had  not  listened  to  him  for  five  minutes  when  I  found 
myself  caught  in  the  grip  which  he  was  famous  for 
fastening  on  his  audience.  With  his  subject — Nation- 
alisation of  the  Land — and  his  arguments  I  had  been 
perfectly  famUiar  for  years.  As  a  boy  I  had  read 
Henry  George's  "  Progress  and  Poverty "  with  the 
superciliousness  of  the  young  believer  in  the  divine 
right  of  Britain's  landed  gentry,  and  before  the  Eton 
Debating  Society  I  had  demolished  the  whole  theory  to 
my  own  and  every  one  else's  satisfaction.  Later,  as  a 
practical  politician,  I  had  kept  myself  abreast  of  the 
Socialist  movement.  I  did  not  need  Mr.  John  Milligan, 
whom  my  lingering  flippancy  had  called  a  son  of  thun- 
der, to  teach  me  the  elements  of  the  matter.     But  at 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  253 

this  peculiar  crisis  of  my  life  I  felt  that,  in  a  queer,  un- 
known way,  Milligan  had  a  message  for  me.  It  was 
uncanny.  I  sat  and  listened  to  the  exposition  of  Utopia 
with  the  rapt  intensity  of  any  cheesemonger's  assistant 
there  before  whose  captured  spirit  floated  the  vision  of 
days  to  come  when  the  land  should  so  flow  with  milk 
and  money  that  golden  cheeses  would  be  had  like  butter- 
cups for  the  plucking.  It  was  not  the  man's  gospel 
that  fascinated  me,  not  his  illuminated  prophecy  of  the 
millennium  that  produced  the  vibrations  in  my  soul,  but 
the  surging  passion  of  his  faith,  the  tempest  of  his  en- 
thusiasm. I  had  enough  experience  of  public  speaking 
to  distinguish  between  the  theatrical  and  the  genuine  in 
orator^'.  Here  was  no  tub-thumping  soothsayer,  but 
an  inspired  zealot.  He  lived  his  impassioned  creed  in 
every  fibre  of  his  frame  and  faculties.  He  was  Titanic, 
this  rough  miner,  in  his  unconquerable  hope,  divine  in 
his  yearning  love  of  humanity. 

When  he  ended  there  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  second, 
and  then  a  roar  of  applause  from  the  pale,  earnest,  city- 
stamped  faces.  A  lump  rose  in  my  throat.  Campion 
clutched  my  knee.     A  light  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well  ?     What   about   Boanerges  ?  " 

"  Only  one  thing,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  I  were  as  alive 
as  that  man." 

A  negligible  person  proposed  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
Milligan,  after  which  the  hall  began  to  empty.  Cam- 
pion, caught  by  a  group  of  his  proletariat  friends, 
signalled  to  me  to  wait  for  him.  And  as  I  waited  I 
saw  Eleanor  Faversham  come  slowly  from  the  platform 
down  the  central  gangway.  Her  eyes  flxed  themselves 
on  me  at  once — for  standing  there  alone  I  must  have 
been  a  conspicuous  figure,  an  intruder  from  the  gorgeous 
West — and  with  a  little  start  of  pleasure  she  hurried 


256  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Whittington  touch  about  the  music.  The  light  on  the 
tower  no  longer  mocked  me.  As  I  passed  by  the  gates 
of  Palace  Yard,  a  policeman  on  duty  recognised  me  and 
saluted.  I  strode  on  with  a  springier  tread  and  noticed 
that  the  next  policeman,  who  did  not  know  me,  still 
regarded  me  with  an  air  of  benevolence.  A  pale  moon 
shone  in  the  heavens  and  gave  me  shyly  to  understand 
that  she  was  as  much  my  moon  as  any  one  else's.  As 
I  turned  into  Victoria  Street,  omnibuses  passed  me 
with  a  lurch  of  friendliness.  The  ban  was  lifted.  I 
danced  (figuratively)  along  the  pavement. 

What  it  portended  I  did  not  realise.  I  was  conscious 
of  nothing  but  a  spiritual  exhilaration  comparable 
only  with  the  physical  exhilaration  I  experienced  in 
the  garden  in  Algiers  when  my  bodily  health  had  been 
finally  established.  As  the  body  then  felt  the  need  of 
expressing  itself  in  violent  action — in  leaping  and 
running  (an  impulse  which  I  firmly  subdued),  so  now 
did  my  spirit  crave  some  sort  of  expression  in  violent 
emotion.  I  was  in  a  mood  for  enraptured  converse 
with  an  archangel. 

Looking  back,  I  see  that  Campion's  friendly  "  Hallo  " 
had  awakened  me  from  a  world  of  shadows  and  set  me 
among  realities ;  the  impact  of  Milligan's  vehement 
personality  had  changed  the  conditions  of  my  life  from 
static  to  dynamic ;  and  that  a  Providence  which  is 
not  always  as  ironical  as  it  pleases  us  to  assert  had  sent 
Eleanor  Faversham's  graciousness  to  mitigate  the 
severity  of  the  shock.  I  see  how  just  was  Lola's 
diagnosis.  "  You're  not  quite  alive  even  yet."  I 
had  been  going  about  in  a  state  of  suspended  spiritual 
animation. 
-  My  recovery  dated  from  that  evening. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Agatha  proved  herself  the  good  soul  I  had  represented 
her  to  be. 

"  Certainly,  dear,"  she  said  when  I  came  the  following 
morning  with  my  request.  "  You  can  have  my  boudoir 
all  to  yourselves." 

"  I  am  grateful,"  said  I,  "  and  for  the  first  time  I 
forgive  you  for  calling  it  by  that  abominable  name." 

It  was  an  old  quarrel  between  us.  Every  lover  of 
language  picks  out  certain  words  in  common  use  that  he 
hates  with  an  unreasoning  ferocity. 

"  I'll  change  its  title  if  you  Lke,"  she  said  meekly. 

"If  you  do,  my  dear  Agatha,  my  gratitude  will  be 
eternal." 

"  I  remember  a  certain  superior  person,  when  Tom 
and  I  were  engaged,  calling  mother's  boudoir — the  only 
quiet  place  in  the  house — the  osculatorium." 

She  laughed  with  the  air  of  a  small  bird  who  after  long 
waiting  had  at  last  got  even  with  a  hawk.  But  I  did 
not  even  smile.  For  the  only  time  in  our  lives  I  con- 
sidered that  Agatha  had  committed  a  breach  of  good 
taste.     I  said  rather  stiffly  : 

"  It  is  not  going  to  be  a  lovers'  meeting,  my  dear." 

She  flushed.  "It  was  silly  of  me.  But  why  shouldn't 
it  be  a  lovers'  meeting  ?  "  she  added  audaciously.  "If 
nothing  had  happened,  you  two  would  have  been 
married  by  this  time " 

•"  Not  till  June." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would.  I  should  have  seen  about 
that — a   ridiculously   long    engagement.     Anyhow,    it 

257  R 


258  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

was  only  your  illness  that  broke  it  off.  You  were  told 
you  were  going  to  die.  You  did  the  only  honourable 
and  sensible  thing— both  of  you.  Now  you're  in  splen- 
did health  again " 

"Stop,   stop!"   I  interrupted.     "You  seem  to  be 

entirely  oblivious  of  the  circumstances " 

"  I'm  oblivious  of  no  circumstances.  Neither  is 
Eleanor.  And  if  she  still  cares  for  you  she  won't  care 
twopence  for  the  circumstances.  I  know  I  wouldn't." 
And  to  cut  off  my  reply  she  clapped  the  receiver  of 
the  telephone  to  her  ear  and  called  up  Eleanor,  with 
whom  she  proceeded  to  arrange  a  date  for  the  interview. 
Presently  she  screwed  her  head  round. 

"  She  says  she  can  come  at  four  this  afternoon.     Will 
that  suit  you  ?  " 
"  Perfectly,"  said  I. 

When  she  replaced  the  receiver  I  stepped  behind  her 
and  put  my  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"  '  The  mother  of  mischief,'  "  I  quoted,  "  '  is  no 
bigger  than  a  midge's  wing,'  and  the  grandmother  is  the 
match-making  microbe  that  lurks  in  every  woman's 
system." 

She  caught  one  of  my  hands  and  looked  up  into  my 
face. 

"  You're  not  cross  with  me,  Simon  ?  " 
Her  tone  was  that  of  the  old  Agatha.  I  laughed,  re- 
membering the  policeman's  salute  of  the  previous  night, 
and  noted  this  recovery  of  my  ascendancy  as  another 
indication  of  the  general  improvement  in  the  attitude  of 
London. 

"  Of  course  not,  Tom-Tit,"  said  I,  calling  her  by  her 
nursery  name.  "  But  I  absolutely  forbid  your  thinking 
of  playing  Fairy  Godmother." 

"  You  can  forbid  my  playing,"  she  laughed,  "  and  I 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  259 

can  obey  you.  But  >'0U  can't  prevent  my  thinking. 
Thought  is  free." 

"  Sometimes,  my  dear,"  I  retorted,  "it  is  better 
chained  up." 

With  this  rebuke  I  left  her.  No  doubt  she  con- 
sidered a  renewal  of  my  engagement  with  Eleanor 
Faversham  a  romantic  solution  of  difficulties.  I  could 
only  regard  it  as  preposterous,  and  as  I  walked  back  to 
Victoria  Street  I  convinced  myself  that  Eleanor's  frank 
offer  of  friendship  proved  that  such  an  idea  never  entered 
her  head.  I  took  vehement  pains  to  convince  myself. 
Spring  had  come  ;  like  the  year,  I  had  awakened  from 
my  lethargy.  T  viewed  life  through  new  eyes  ;  I  felt  it 
with  a  new  heart.  Such  vehement  pains  I  was  not 
capable  of  taking  yesterday. 

"  It  has  never  entered  her  head  !  "  I  declared  conclu- 
sively. 

And  yet,  as  we  sat  together  a  few  hours  later  in 
Agatha's  little  room  a  doubt  began  to  creep  into  the 
corners  of  my  mind.  In  her  strong  way  she  had  brushed 
away  the  scandal  that  hung  around  my  name.  She  did 
not  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  told  her  of  my  loss  of  fortune. 
My  lunacy  rather  raised  than  lowered  me  in  her  esteem. 
How  then  was  I  personally  different  from  the  man  she 
had  engaged  herself  to  marry  six  months  before  ?  I 
remembered  our  parting.  I  remembered  her  letters. 
Her  presence  here  was  proof  of  her  unchanging  regard. 
But  was  it  something  more  ?  Was  there  a  hope  throb- 
bing beneath  that  calm  sweet  surface  to  which  I  did  not 
respond  ?  For  it  often  happens  that  the  more  direct  a 
woman  is,  the  more  in  her  feminine  heart  is  she  elusive. 

Clean-built,  clean-hearted,  clean- eyed,  of  that  clean 
complexion  which  suggests  the  open  air,  Eleanor  im- 
pressed you  with  a  sense  of  bodily  and  mental  whole- 


26o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

someness.  Her  taste  in  dress  ran  in  the  direction  of 
plain  tailor-made  gowns  (I  am  told,  by  the  way,  that 
these  can  be  fairly  expensive),  and  shrank  instinctively 
from  the  frills  and  fripperies  to  which  daughters  of  Eve 
are  notoriously  addicted.  She  spoke  in  a  clear  voice 
which  some  called  hard,  though  I  never  found  it  so  ;  she 
carried  herself  proudly.  Chaste  in  thought,  frank  in 
deed,  she  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  highly  bred, 
purely  English  type  of  woman  who,  looking  at  facts 
squarely  in  the  face,  accepts  them  as  facts  and  does  not 
allow  her  imagination  to  dally  in  any  atmosphere  where- 
in they  may  be  invested.  To  this  type  a  vow  is  irre- 
fragable. Loyalty  is  inherent  in  her  like  her  blood.  She 
never  changes.  What  feminine  inconsistencies  she  has 
at  fifteen  she  retains  at  five-and-twenty,  and  preserves 
to  add  to  the  charms  of  her  old  age.  She  is  the  exem- 
plary wife,  the  great-hearted  mother  of  children.  She 
has  sent  her  sons  in  thousands  to  fight  her  country's 
battles  overseas.  Those  things  which  lie  in  the  outer 
temple  of  her  soul  she  gives  lavishly.  That  which  is 
hidden  in  her  inner  shrine  has  to  be  wrested  from  her 
by  the  one  hand  she  loves.     Was  mine  that  hand  ? 

It  will  be  perceived  that  I  was  beginning  to  take  life 
seriously. 

Eleanor  must  have  also  perceived  something  of  the 
sort  ;   for  during  our  talk  she  said  irrelevantly  : 

"  You've  changed  !  " 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  You're  not  the  same  as  you  were. 
I  seem  to  know  you  better  in  some  ways,  and  yet  I  seem 
to  know  you  less.     Why  is  it  ?  " 

I  said,  "  No  one  can  go  through  the  Valley  of  the 
Grotesque  as  I  have  done  without  suffering  some 
change." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  261 

"  I  don  t  see  why  you  should  call  it  '  the  Valley  of 
the  Grotesque.'  " 

I  smiled  at  her  instinctive  rejection  of  the  fanciful. 

"  Don't  you  ?  Call  it  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  if 
you  like.  But  don't  you  think  the  attendant  circum- 
stances were  rather  mediaeval,  gargoyley,  Orcag- 
nesque  ?  Don't  you  think  the  whole  passage  lacked 
the  dignity  which  one  associates  with  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death  ?  " 

"  You  mean  the  murder  ?  "  she  said  with  a  faint 
shiver. 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  might  be  termed  the  central 
feature.  Just  look  at  things  as  they  happened.  I  am 
condemned  to  death.  I  try  to  face  it  like  a  man  and  a 
gentleman.  I  make  my  arrangements.  I  give  up 
what  I  can  call  mine  no  longer.  I  think  I  will  devote 
the  rest  of  my  days  to  performing  such  acts  of  helpful- 
ness and  charity  as  would  be  impossible  for  a  sound  man 
with  a  long  life  before  him  to  undertake.  I  do  it  in  a 
half-jesting  spirit,  refusing  to  take  death  seriously.  I 
pledge  myself  to  an  act  of  helpfulness  which  I  regard  at 
first  as  merely  an  incident  in  my  career  of  beneficence. 
I  am  gradually  caught  in  the  tangle  of  a  drama  which  at 
times  develops  into  sheer  burlesque,  and  before  I  can 
realise  what  is  going  to  happen,  it  turns  into  ghastly 
tragedy.  I  am  overwhelmed  in  grotesque  disaster — it 
is  the  only  word.  Instead  of  creating  happiness  all 
around  me,  I  have  played  havoc  with  human  lives.  I 
stand  on  the  brink  and  look  back  and  see  that  it  is  all 
one  gigantic  devil-jest  at  my  expense.  I  thank  God  I 
am  going  to  die.  I  do  die — for  practical  purposes.  I 
come  back  to  life  and — here  I  am.  Can  I  be  quite  the 
same  person  I  was  a  year  ago  ?  " 

She  reflected  for  a  few  moments.     Then  she  said  : 


262  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  No.  You  can't  be — quite  the  same.  A  man  of 
your  nature  would  either  have  his  satirical  view  of  life 
hardened  into  bitter  cynicism  or  he  would  be  softened 
by  suffering  and  face  things  with  new  and  nobler  ideals. 
He  would  either  still  regard  life  as  a  jest — but  instead 
of  its  being  an  odd,  merry  jest  it  would  be  a  grim,  mean- 
ingless, hideous  one  ;  or  he  would  see  that  it  wasn't  a 
jest  at  all,  but  a  full,  wonderful,  big  reality.  I've  ex- 
pressed myself  badly,  but  you  see  what  I  mean." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  has  happened  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  you  have  changed  for  the  better." 

I  smiled  inwardly.  It  sounded  rather  dull.  I  said 
with  a  smile : 

"  You  never  liked  my  cap  and  bells,  Eleanor." 

"  No  !  "  she  replied  emphatically.  "  What's  the  use 
of  mockery  ?     See  where  it  led  you." 

I  rose,  half  laughing  at  her  earnestness,  half  ashamed 
of  myself,  and  took  a  couple  of  turns  across  the  room. 

"  You're  right,"  I  cried.  "  It  led  me  to  perdition. 
You  might  make  an  allegory  out  of  my  career  and 
entitle  it, '  The  Mocker's  Progress.'  "  I  paused  for  a 
second  or  two,  and  then  said  suddenly,  "  Why  did  you 
from  the  first  refuse  to  believe  what  everybody  else  does 
— before  I  had  the  chance  of  looking  you  in  the  eyes  ?  " 

She  averted  her  face.  "  You  forget  that  I  had  had 
the  chance  of  searching  deep  beneath  the  mocker." 

I  cannot,  in  reverence  to  her,  set  down  what  she  said 
she  had  found  there.  I  stood  humbled  and  rebuked,  as 
a  man  must  do  when  the  best  in  him  is  laid  out  before 
his  sight  by  a  good  woman. 

A  maidservant  brought  in  tea,  set  the  table,  and 
departed.  Eleanor  drew  off  her  gloves  and  my  glance 
fell  on  her  right  hand. 

"It's  good  of  you  to  wear  my  ring  to-day,"  I  said. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  263 

"  To-day  ?  "  she  echoed,  with  the  tiniest  touch  of 
injury  in  her  voice.  "  Do  you  think  I  put  it  on  just  to 
please  you  to-day  ?  "  ^ 

"  It  would  have  been  gracious  of  you  to  do  so,"  said  I. 
"  It  wouldn't,"  she  declared.  "  It  would  have  been 
mawkish  and  sentimental.  When  we  parted  I  told  you 
to  do  what  you  liked  with  the  ring.  Do  you  remember  ? 
You  put  it  on  this  finger  "—she  waved  her  right  hand— 
"  and  there  it  has  stayed  ever  since." 

I  caught  the  hand  and  touched  it  lightly  with  my  lips. 
She  coloured  faintly. 

"  Two  lumps  of  sugar  and  no  milk,  I  think  that's 
right  ?  "     She  handed  me  the  tea-cup. 

"  It's  like  you,"  said  I,  "  not  to  have  forgotten." 
"  I'm  a  practical  person,"  she  replied  with  a  laugh. 
Presently  she  said,  "  Tell  me  more  about  your  illness 
— or  rather  your  recovery.     I  know  nothing  except  that 
you  had  a  successful  operation  which  all  the  London 
surgeons  said  was  impossible.     Who  nursed  you  ?  " 
"  I  had  a  trained  nurse,"  said  I. 
"  Wasn't  Madame  Brandt  with  you  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  I.     "  She  was  very  good  to  me.     In  fact, 
I  think  I  owe  her  my  life." 

Hitherto  the  delicacy  of  the  situation  had  caused  me 
to  refer  to  Lola  no  more  than  was  necessary,  and  in  my 
narrative  I  had  purposely  left  her  vague. 
"  That's  a  great  debt,"  said  Eleanor. 
"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  I. 

"  You're  not  the  man  to  leave  such  a  debt  unpaid  ?  " 
"  I  try  to  repay  it  by  giving  Madame  Brandt  my 
devoted  friendship." 
Her  eyes  never  wavered  as  they  held  mine. 
"  That's  one  of  the  things  I  wanted  to  know.     Tell 
me  something  about  her." 


264  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  felt  some  surprise,  as  Eleanor  was  of  a  nature  too 
proud  for  curiosity. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Because  she  interests  me  intensely.  Is  she  young  ?  " 

"  About  thirty-two." 

"  Good-looking  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  woman  of  remarkable  personality." 
"  Describe  her." 

I  tried,  stumbled,  and  halted.  The  effort  evoked  in 
my  mind  a  picture  of  Lola,  lithe,  seductive,  exotic,  with 
gold  flecks  in  her  dusky,  melting  eyes,  with  strong 
shapely  arms  that  had  as  yet  only  held  me  motherwise, 
with  her  pantherine  suggestion  of  tremendous  strength 
in  languorous  repose,  with  her  lazy  gestures  and  parted 
lips  showing  the  wonderful  white  even  teeth,  with  all 
her  fascination  and  charm — a  picture  of  Lola  such  as  I 
had  not  seen  since  my  emergence  from  the  Valley — a 
picture  of  Lola,  generous,  tender,  wistful,  strong,  yield- 
ing, fragrant,  lovable,  desirable,  amorous — a  picture  of 
Lola  which  I  could  not  put  before  this  other  woman 
equally  brave  and  straight,  who  looked  at  me  com- 
posedly out  of  her  calm,  blue  eyes. 

My  description  resolved  itself  into  a  loutish  cata- 
logue. 

"  It  is  not  painful  to  you  to  talk  of  her,  Simon  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I.  "  There  are  not  many  great- 
hearted women  going  about.  It  is  my  privilege  to 
know  two." 

"  Am  I  the  other  ?  " 

"  Who  else  ?  " 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  the  courage  to  class  Madame 
Brandt  and  myself  together." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  proves  beyond  a  doubt  that  you  are  honest  with 
me.     Now  teU  me  about  a  few  externals — things  that 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  265 

don't  matter — but  help  one  to  form  an  impression.  Is 
she  educated  ?  " 

"  From  books,  no  ;   from  observation,  yes." 

"  Her  manners  ?  " 

"  Observation  has  educated  them." 

"  Accent  ?  " 

"  She  is  sufficiently  polyglot  to  have  none." 

"  She  dresses  and  talks  and  behaves  generally  like  a 
lady  ?  " 

"  She  does,"  said  I. 

"In  what  way  then  does  she  differ  from  the  women  of 
our  class  ?  " 

"  She  is  less  schooled,  less  reticent,  franker,  more 
natural.     What  is  on  her  tongue  to  say,  she  says." 

"  Temper  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  her  say  an  angry  word  to  or  of 
a  human  creature.  She  has  queer  delicacies  of  feeling. 
For  instance " 

I  told  her  of  Anastasius  Papadopoulos's  tawdry,  gim- 
crack  presents  which  Lola  has  suffered  to  remain  in  her 
drawing-room  so  as  not  to  hurt  the  poor  little  wretch. 

"  That's  very  touching,"  she  said.  "  Where  does  she 
live  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  flat  in  Cadogan  Gardens." 

"  Is  she  in  London  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  1  should  very  much  like  to  know  her,"  she  said  calmly. 

I  vow  and  declare  again  that  the  more  straightforward 
and  open-eyed,  the  less  subtle,  temperamental,  and 
neurotic  are  women,  the  more  are  they  baffling.  I  had 
wondered  for  some  time  whither  the  catechism  tended, 
and  now,  with  a  sudden  jerk,  it  stopped  short  at  this 
most  unexpected  terminus.  It  was  startling.  I  rose 
and  mechanically  placed  my  empty  tea-cup  on  the  tray 
by  her  side. 


266  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  The  wish,  my  dear  Eleanor,"  said  I,  quite  formally, 
"  does  great  credit  to  your  heart," 

There  was  a  short  pause,  marking  an  automatic  close 
of  the  subject.  Deeply  as  I  admired  both  women,  I 
shrank  from  the  idea  of  their  meeting.  It  seemed 
curiously  indelicate,  in  view  both  of  my  former  engage- 
ment to  Eleanor  and  of  Lola's  frank  avowal  of  her  feel- 
ings towards  me  before  what  I  shall  always  regard  as 
my  death.  It  is  true  that  we  had  never  alluded  to  it 
since  my  resurrection  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  Lola's 
feelings,  I  was  sure,  remained  unaltered.  It  also  flashed 
on  me  that,  with  all  the  good  will  in  the  world,  Eleanor 
would  not  understand  Lola.  An  interview  would  develop 
into  a  duel.  I  pictured  it  for  a  second,  and  my  sudden 
fierce  partisanship  for  Lola  staggered  me.  Decidedly 
an  acquaintance  between  these  two  was  preposterous. 

The  silence  was  definite  enough  to  mark  a  period,  but 
not  long  enough  to  cause  embarrassment.  Eleanor 
commented  on  my  present  employment.  I  must  find 
it  good  to  get  back  to  politics. 

"  I  find  it  just  the  contrary,"  said  I,  with  a  laugh. 
"  My  convictions,  always  lukewarm,  are  now  stone-cold. 
I  don't  say  that  the  principles  of  the  party  are  wrong. 
But  they're  wrong  for  me,  which  is  all-important.  If 
they  are  not  right  for  me,  what  care  I  how  right  they 
be  ?  And  as  I  don't  believe  in  those  of  the  other  side, 
I'm  going  to  give  up  politics  altogether." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  repHed.  "  I  honestly  don't.  But 
I  have  an  insistent  premonition  that  I  shall  soon  find 
myself  doing  something  utterly  idiotic,  which  to  me  will 
be  the  most  real  thing  in  life." 

I  had  indeed  awakened  that  morning  with  an  ex- 
hilarating thrill  of  anticipation,  comparable  to  that  of 
the  mountain  climber  who  knows  not  what  panorama 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  267 

of  glory  may  be  disclosed  to  his  eyes  when  he  reaches 
the  summit.  I  had  whistled  in  my  bath — a  most  un- 
usual thing. 

"  Are  you  going  to  turn  Socialist  ?  " 

"  Qui  lo  sa  ?  I'm  willing  to  turn  anything  alive  and 
honest.  It  doesn't  matter  what  a  man  professes  so 
long  as  he  professes  it  with  all  the  faith  of  all  his  soul." 

I  broke  into  a  laugh,  for  the  echo  of  my  words  rang 
comic  m  my  ears. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  funny  to  hear  me  talk  like  a 
twopenny  Carlyle  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  she  said  seriously. 

"  I  can't  undertake  to  talk  like  that  always,"  I  said 
warningly. 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  were  going  to  be  serious." 

"  So  I  am  ;  but  platitudinous — Heaven  forbid  !  " 

The  little  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  six. 
Eleanor  rose  in  alarm, 

"  How  the  time  has  flown  !  I  must  be  getting  back. 
Well  ?  " 

Our  eyes  met.     "  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Are  we  ever  to  meet  again  ?  " 

"  It's  for  you  to  say." 

"  No,"  she  said.  And  then  very  distinctly,  very 
deliberately,  "  It's  for  you." 

I  understood.  She  made  the  offer  simply,  nobly,  un- 
reservedly. My  heart  was  filled  with  a  great  gratitude. 
She  was  so  true,  so  loyal,  so  thorough.  Why  could  I 
not  take  her  at  her  w^ord  ?     I  murmured  : 

"  I'll  remember  what  you  say." 

She  put  out  her  hand.     "  Good-bye  !  " 

"  Good-bye  and  God  bless  you  !  "  I  said. 

I  accompanied  her  to  the  front  door,  hailed  a  passing 
cab,  and  waited  till  she  had  driven  off.     My  pulses 


268  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

throbbed.  I  was  moved  to  the  depths  of  me.  Was 
there  ever  a  sweeter,  grander,  more  loyal  woman  ?  The 
three  little  words  had  changed  the  current  of  my  being. 

I  returned  to  take  leave  of  Agatha.  I  found  her  in  the 
drawing-room  reading  a  novel.  She  twisted  her  head 
sideways  and  regarded  me  with  a  bird-like  air  of 
curiosity. 

"  Eleanor  gone  ?  " 

Her  tone  jarred  on  me.  I  nodded  and  dropped  into  a 
chair. 

"  Interview  passed  off  satisfactorily  ?  " 

"  We  were  quite  comfortable,  thank  you.  The  only 
drawback  was  the  tea.  Why  a  woman  in  your  position 
can't  give  people  China  tea  instead  of  that  Ceylon  syrup 
will  be  a  mystery  to  me  to  my  dying  day." 

She  rose  in  her  wrath  and  shook  me. 

"  You're  the  most  aggravating  wretch  on  the  earth  !  " 

"  My  dear  Tom-Tit,"  said  I  gravely,  "  remember 
the  moral  tale  of  Bluebeard." 

"  Look  here,  Simon  " — she  planted  herself  in  front  of 
me — "  I'm  not  a  bit  inquisitive.  I  don't  in  the  least 
want  to  know  what  passed  between  you  and  Eleanor. 
But  what  I  would  give  my  ears  to  understand  is  how 
you  can  go  through  a  two  hours'  conversation  with  the 
girl  you  were  engaged  to — a  conversation  which  must 
have  affected  the  lives  of  both  of  you — and  then  come 
up  to  me  and  talk  drivel  about  China  tea  and  Blue- 
beard." 

"  Once  on  a  time,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "I  flattered  my- 
self on  being  an  artist  in  life.  I  am  humbler  now  and 
acknowledge  myself  a  wretched,  bungling  amateur. 
But  I  still  recognise  the  value  of  chiaroscuro." 

"  You're  hopeless,"  said  Agatha,  somewhat  crossly. 
"  You  get  more  flippant  and  cynical  every  day." 


CHAPTER  XX 

I  WENT  home  to  my  solitar}^  dinner,  and  afterwards  took 
down  a  volume  of  Emerson  and  tried  to  read.  I 
thought  the  cool  and  spacious  philosopher  might  allay 
a  certain  fever  in  my  blood.  But  he  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  wrote  for  cool  and  spacious  people  like  him- 
self ;  not  for  corpses  like  me  revivified  suddenly  with  an 
overcharge  of  vital  force.  I  pitched  him — how  much 
more  truly  companionable  is  a  book  than  its  author  ! — 
I  pitched  him  across  the  room,  and  thrusting  my  hands 
in  my  pockets  and  stretching  out  my  legs,  stared  in  a 
certain  wonder  at  myself. 

I,  Simon  de  Gex,  was  in  love  ;  and,  horribile  dictu,  in 
love  with  two  women  at  once.  It  was  Oriental,  Mor- 
monic,  New  Century,  what  you  will  ;  but  there  it  was. 
I  am  ashamed  to  avow  that  if,  at  that  moment,  both 
women  had  appeared  before  me  and  said  "  Marry  us," 
I  should  have — well,  reflected  seriously  on  the  proposal. 
I  had  passed  through  curious  enough  experiences, 
Heaven  knows,  already  ;  but  none  so  baffling  as  this. 
The  two  women  came  alternately  and  knocked  at  my 
heart,  and  whispered  in  my  ear  their  irrefutable  claims 
to  my  love.  I  listened  throbbingly  to  each,  and  to  each 
I  said,  "  I  love  you." 

I  was  in  an  extraordinary  psychological  predicament. 
Lola  had  remarked,  "  You  are  not  quite  alive  even  yet." 
I  had  come  to  complete  life  too  suddenly.  This  was 
the  result.  I  got  up  and  paced  the  bird-cage,  which 
the  house-agents  termed  a  reception-room,  and  won- 
dered whether  I  were  going  mad.  It  was  not  as  if  one 
woman  represented  the  flesh  and  the  other  the  spirit. 

269 


270  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Then  I  might  have  seen  the  way  to  a  decision.  But 
both  had  the  large  nature  that  comprises  all.  I  could 
not  exalt  one  in  any  way  to  the  abasement  of  the  other. 
All  my  inherited  traditions,  prejudices,  predilections, 
all  my  training  ranged  me  on  the  side  of  Eleanor.  I 
was  clamouring  for  the  real.  Was  she  not  the  incarna- 
tion of  the  real  ?  Her  very  directness  piqued  me  to  a 
perverse  and  delicious  obliquity.  And  I  knew,  as  I 
knew  when  I  parted  from  her  months  before,  that  it 
was  only  for  me  to  awaken  things  that  lay  virginally 
dormant.  On  the  other  hand  stood  Lola,  with  her 
magnetic  seduction,  her  rich  atmosphere,  her  great 
wide  simplicity  of  heart,  holding  out  arms  into  which 
I  longed  to  throw  myself. 

It  was  monstrous,  abnormal.  I  hated  the  abomin- 
able indelicacy  of  weighing  one  against  the  other,  as  I 
had  hated  the  idea  of  their  meeting. 

I  paced  my  bird-cage  until  it  shrank  to  the  size  of  a 
rat-trap.  Then  I  clapped  on  my  hat  and  fled  down 
into  the  streets.  I  jumped  into  the  first  cab  I  saw  and 
bade  the  driver  take  me  to  Barbara's  Building.  Cam- 
pion suddenly  occurred  to  me  as  the  best  antidote  to 
the  poison  that  had  entered  my  blood. 

I  found  him  alone,  clearing  from  the  table  the  remains 
of  supper.  In  spite  of  his  soul's  hospitable  instincts,  he 
stared  at  me. 

"  Why,  what  the ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  You're  surprised  to  see  me  bursting 
in  on  you  like  a  wild  animal.  I'm  not  going  to  do  it 
every  night,  but  this  evening  I  claim  a  bit  of  our  old 
friendship." 

"  Claim  it  all,  my  dear  de  Gex  !  "  he  said  cordially. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

It  was  characteristic  of  Campion  to  put  his  question 
in  that  form.     Ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  hundred  would 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  271 

have  asked  what  was  the  matter  with  me.  But  Cam- 
pion, who  all  his  life  had  given,  wanted  to  know  what 
he  could  do. 

"  Tell  me  fairy  tales  of  Lambeth  and  idylls  of  the 
Waterloo  Bridge  Road.  Or  light  your  pipe  and  talk  to 
me  of  Barbara." 

He  folded  up  the  tablecloth  and  put  it  in  the  side- 
board drawer. 

"  If  it's  elegant  distraction  you  want,"  said  he,  "  I 
can  do  better  than  that."  He  planted  himself  in  front 
of  me.     "  Would  you  like  to  do  a  night's  real  work  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  I. 

"  A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  named  Judd  is  in 
the  ramping  stage  of  delirium  tremens.  He  requires  a 
couple  of  men  to  hold  him  down  so  as  to  prevent  him 
from  getting  out  of  bed  and  smashing  his  furniture  and 
his  wife  and  things,  I  was  going  to  relieve  one  of  the 
fellows  there  now,  so  that  he  can  get  a  few  hours'  sleep, 
and  if  you  like  to  come  and  relieve  the  other,  you'll  be 
doing  a  good  action.  But  I  warn  you  it  won't  be  funny." 

"  I'm  in  a  mood  for  anything,"  I  said. 

"  You'll  come  ?  " 

"Of  course." 

"  That's  splendid  !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  hardly  thought 
you  were  in  earnest.  Wait  till  I  telephone  for  some 
medicine  to  be  sent  up  from  the  dispensary.  I 
promised  to  take  it  round  with  me." 

He  telephoned  instructions,  and  presently'  a  porter 
brought  in  the  medicine.  Campion  explained  that  it 
had  been  prescribed  by  the  doctor  attached  to  the 
institution  who  was  attending  the  case. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  the  working  of  our  surgery 
and  dispensary  !  "  he  cried  enthusiastically,  "  We 
charge  those  who  can  afford  it  sixpence  for  visit  and 
medicine.     Those  who  can't  are  provided,  after  inquiry, 


272  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

with  coupons.  We  don't  want  to  encourage  the  well- 
to-do  to  get  their  medical  advice  gratis,  or  we  wouldn't 
be  able  to  cope  with  the  really  poor.  We  pay  the  doctor 
a  fixed  salary,  and  the  fees  go  to  the  general  fund  of  the 
Building,  so  it  doesn't  matter  a  hang  to  him  whether  a 
patient  pays  or  not." 

"  You  must  be  proud  of  all  this,  Campion  ?  "  I  said. 

"  In  a  way,"  he  replied,  hghting  his  pipe  ;  "  but  it's 
mainly  a  question  of  money — my  poor  old  father's 
money  which  he  worked  for,  not  I." 

I  reminded  him  that  other  sons  had  been  known  to 
put  their  poor  old  father's  money  to  baser  uses. 

"  I  suppose  Barbara  is  more  useful  to  the  community 
than  steam  yachts  or  racing  stables  ;  but  there,  you  see, 
I  hate  yachting  because  I'm  always  sea-sick,  and  I 
scarcely  know  which  end  of  a  horse  you  put  the  bridle 
on.     Every  man  to  his  job.     This  is  mine.     I  like  it." 

"  I  wonder  whether  holding  down  people  suffering 
from  delirium  tremens  is  my  job,"  said  I.  "If  so,  I'm 
afraid  I  shan't  like  it." 

"  If  it's  really  your  job,"  replied  Campion,  "  you  will. 
You  must.     You  can't  help  it.     God  made  man  so." 

It  was  only  an  hour  or  two  later  when,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  Hfe,  I  came  into  practical  touch  with  human 
misery,  that  I  recognised  the  truth  of  Campion's  per- 
fervid  optimism.  No  one  could  like  our  task  that  night 
in  its  outer  essence.  For  a  time  it  revolted  me.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  close,  dirty  room,  bedroom,  kitchen, 
dining-room,  sitting-room,  bathroom,  laundry — all  in 
one,  the  home  of  man,  wife,  and  two  children,  caught 
me  by  the  throat.  It  was  sour.  The  physical  contact 
with  the  flesh  of  the  unclean,  gibbering,  shivering, 
maniacal  brute  on  the  foul  bed  was  unutterably  repug- 
nant to  me.  Now  and  again,  during  intervals  of  com- 
parative calm,  I  was  forced  to  put  my  head  out  of  the 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  273 

window  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  street.  Even  that 
was  tainted,  for  a  fried-fish  shop  across  the  way  and  a 
pubhc-house  next  door  billowed  forth  their  nauseating 
odours.  After  a  while  access  to  the  window  was  denied 
me.  A  mattress  and  some  rude  coverings  were  stretched 
beneath  it — the  children's  bed — on  which  we  persuaded 
the  helpless,  dreary  wife  to  lie  down  and  try  to  rest.  A 
neighbour  had  taken  in  the  children  for  the  night.  The 
wife  was  a  skinny,  grey-faced,  lined  woman  of  six-and- 
twenty.  In  her  attitude  of  hopeless  incompetence  she 
shed  around  her  an  atmosphere  of  unspeakable  depres- 
sion. Although  I  could  not  get  to  the  window,  I  was 
glad  when  she  lay  down  and  spared  me  the  sight  of  her 
moving  fecklessly  about  the  room  or  weeping  huddled 
up  on  a  broken-backed  wooden  chair  and  looking  more 
like  a  half-animated  dish-clout  than  a  woman. 

The  poor  wretch  on  the  bed  was  a  journeyman  tailor 
who,  when  sober,  could  earn  fair  wages.  The  cry  of  the 
wife,  before  Campion  awed  her  into  comparative  silence, 
was  a  monotonous  upbraiding  of  her  husband  for  bring- 
ing them  down  to  this  poverty.  It  seemed  impossible 
to  touch  her  intelligence  and  make  her  understand  that 
no  words  from  her  or  any  one  could  reach  his  conscious- 
ness. His  violence,  his  screams,  his  threats,  the  horrors 
of  his  fear  left  her  unmoved.  We  were  there  to  guard 
her  from  physical  danger,  and  that  to  her  was  all  that 
mattered. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so  the  nausea  left  me.  I 
felt  braced  by  the  grimness  of  the  thing,  and  during  the 
paroxysms  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  anything  but  the 
mechanical  work  in  hand.  It  was  all  that  Campion  and 
I,  both  fairly  able-bodied  men,  could  do  to  keep  the 
puny  little  tailor  in  his  bed.  Horrible  shapes  menaced 
him  from  which  he  fought  madly  to  escape.  He 
writhed  and  shrieked  with  terror.     Once  he  caught  my 


274  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

hand  in  his  teeth  and  bit  it,  and  Campion  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  relaxing  the  wretch's  jaw.  Between  the 
paroxysms  Campion  and  I  sat  on  the  bed  watching  him, 
scarcely  exchanging  a  word.  The  wife,  poor  creature, 
whimpered  on  her  mattress.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
vigil.  It  lasted  till  the  grey  dawn  crept  in  pitilessly 
intensifying  the  squalor  of  the  room,  and  until  the  dawn 
was  broadening  into  daylight.  Then  two  of  Campion's 
men  from  Barbara's  Building  arrived  to  relieve  us. 
Before  we  went,  however,  the  neighbour  who  had  taken 
charge  of  the  children  came  in  to  help  the  slatternly 
wife  light  a  fire  and  make  some  tea.  I  have  enjoyed 
few  things  more  than  the  warm,  bitter  stuff  which  I 
drank  out  of  the  broken  mug  in  that  strange  and  de- 
pressing company. 

I  went  out  into  the  street  with  racked  head  and 
nerves  and  muscles.  Campion  kept  his  cloth  cap  in  his 
hand,  allowing  the  morning  wind  to  ruffle  his  shaggy 
black  hair,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  think  the  worst  is  over  now.  As  soon  as  he  can 
be  moved,  I'll  get  him  down  to  the  annexe  at  Broad- 
stairs.     The  sea  air  will  pull  him  round." 

"  Isn't  it  rather  hopeless  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  turned  on  me.  "  Nothing's  hopeless.  If  you 
once  start  the  hopeless  game  down  here  you'd  better 
distribute  cyanide  of  potassium  instead  of  coals  and 
groceries.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  get  that  man 
decent  again,  and,  by  George,  I'm  going  to  do  it ! 
Fancy  those  two  weaklings  producing  healthy  offspring. 
But  they  have.  Two  of  the  most  intelligent  kids  in  the 
district.  If  you  hold  up  your  hands  and  say  it's  awful 
to  contemplate  their  upbringing  you're  speaking  the 
blatant  truth.  It's  the  contemplation  that's  awful. 
But  why  contemplate  when  you  can  do  something  ?  " 

I  admitted  the  justice  of  the  remark.     He  went  on  : 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  275 

"  Look  at  yourself  now.  If  you  had  gone  in  with  me 
last  night  and  just  stared  at  the  poor  devil  howling  with 
D.T.  in  that  filthy  place,  you'd  have  come  out  sick  and 
said  it  was  awful.  Instead  of  that,  you  buckled  to  and 
worked  and  threw  off  everything  save  our  common 
humanity,  and  have  got  interested  in  the  Judds  in  spite 
of  yourself.  You'll  go  and  see  them  again  and  do  what 
you  can  for  'em,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  was  not  in  a  merry  mood,  but  I  laughed.  Campion 
had  read  the  intention  that  had  vaguely  formulated 
itself  at  the  back  of  my  mind. 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  I  said. 

We  walked  on  a  few  steps  down  the  still  silent,  dis- 
heartening street  without  speaking.  Then  he  tugged 
his  beard,  half  halted,  and  glanced  at  me  quickly. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  "  the  more  sensible  people  I  can 
get  to  help  us  the  better.  Would  you  like  me  to  hand 
you  over  the  Judd  famUy  en  bloc  ?  " 

This  was  startling  to  the  amateur  philanthropist. 
But  it  is  the  way  of  all  professionals  to  regard  their  own 
business  as  of  absorbing  interest  to  the  outside  world.  The 
stockbroking  mind  cannot  conceive  a  sane  man  indiffer- 
ent to  the  fluctuations  of  the  money  market,  and  to  the 
professional  cricketer  the  wide  earth  revolves  around  a 
wicket.  How  in  the  world  could  I  be  fairy  godfather  to  the 
J udd  family  ?   Campion  took  my  competence  for  granted. 

"  You  may  not  understand  exactly  what  I  mean,  my 
dear  Campion,"  said  I  ;  "  but  I  attribute  the  most  un- 
holy disasters  of  my  life  to  a  ghastly  attempt  of  mine  to 
play  Deputy  Providence." 

"  But  who's  asking  you  to  play  Deputy  Providence  ?  " 
he  shouted.  "It's  the  very  last  idiot  thing  I  want  done. 
I  want  you  to  do  certain  definite  practical  work  for  that 
family  under  the  experienced  direction  of  the  authorities 
at  Barbara's  Building,  There,  do  you  understand  now  ? " 


276  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  "  Te  duce  et  auspice  Barbara, 
I'll  do  anything  you  like." 

Thus  it  befell  that  I  undertook  to  look  after  the  moral, 
material,  and  spiritual  welfare  of  the  family  of  an  alco- 
holic tailor  by  the  name  of  Judd  who  dwelt  in  a  vile 
slum  in  South  Lambeth.  My  head  was  full  of  the  pros- 
pect when  I  awoke  at  noon,  for  I  had  gone  exhausted  to 
sleep  as  soon  as  I  reached  home.  If  good  will,  backed 
by  the  experience  of  Barbara's  Building,  could  do  aught 
towards  the  alleviation  of  human  misery,  I  determmed 
that  it  should  be  done.  And  there  was  much  misery  to  be 
alleviated  in  the  Judd  family.  I  had  no  clear  notion  of 
the  means  whereby  I  was  to  accomplish  this  ;  but  I  knew 
that  it  would  be  a  philanthropic  pursuit  far  different 
from  my  previous  eumoirous  wanderings  about  London 
when,  with  a  mind  conscious  of  well-doing,  I  distributed 
embarrassing  five-pound  notes  to  the  poor  and  needy. 

I  had  known — what  comfortable,  well-fed  gentleman 
does  not  ? — that  within  easy  walking  distance  of  his 
London  home  thousands  of  human  beings  live  like  the 
beasts  that  perish  ;  but  never  before  had  I  spent  an 
intimate  night  in  one  of  the  foul  dens  where  the  living 
and  perishing  take  place.  The  awful  pity  of  it  entered 
my  soul. 

So  deeply  was  I  impressed  with  the  responsibility  of 
what  I  had  undertaken,  so  grimly  was  I  haunted  by  the 
sight  of  the  pallid,  howling  travesty  of  a  man  and  the 
squeezed-out,  whimpering  woman,  that  the  memory  of 
the  conflicting  emotions  that  had  driven  me  to  Campion 
the  night  before  returned  to  me  with  a  shock. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  I  murmured,  as  I  shaved,  "  that  I  am 
living  very  intensely  indeed.  Here  am  I  in  love  with 
two  women  at  once,  and  almost  hysterically  enthusiastic 
over  a  delirious  tailor."  Then  I  cut  my  cheek  and 
murmured  no  more,  until  the  operation  was  concluded. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  277 

I  had  arranged  to  accompany  Lola  that  afternoon  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens.  This  was  a  favourite  resort  of 
hers.  She  was  on  intimate  terms  with  keepers  and 
animals,  and  her  curious  magnetism  allowed  her  to  play 
such  tricks  with  lions  and  tigers  and  other  ferocious 
beasts  as  made  my  blood  run  cold.  As  for  the  bears, 
they  greeted  her  approach  with  shrieking  demonstra- 
tions of  affection.  On  such  occasions  I  felt  the  same 
curious  physical  antipathy  as  I  did  when  she  had  domi- 
nated Anastasius's  ill-conditioned  cat.  She  seemed  to 
enter  another  sphere  of  being  in  which  neither  I  nor 
anything  human  had  a  place. 

With  some  such  dim  thoughts  in  my  head,  I  reached 
her  door  in  Cadogan  Gardens.  The  sight  of  her  electric 
brougham  that  stood  waiting  switched  my  thoughts 
into  another  groove,  but  one  running  oddly  parallel. 
Electric  broughams  also  carried  her  out  of  my  sphere.  I 
had  humbly  performed  the  journey  thither  in  an  omnibus. 

She  received  me  in  her  big,  expansive  way. 

"  Lord  !  How  good  it  is  to  see  you.  I  was  getting  the 
— I  was  going  to  say  *  the  blind  hump' — but  you  don't 
like  it.     I  was  going  to  turn  crazy  and  bite  the  furniture." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked  with  masculine  directness. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  educate  myself — to  read  poetry. 
Look  here  " — she  caught  a  small  brown-covered  octavo 
volume  from  the  table.  "  It's  Browning.  '  Sordello  ' 
is  the  name  of  the  poem.  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of 
it.  It  proved  to  me  that  it  was  no  use.  If  I  couldn't 
understand  poetry,  I  couldn't  understand  anything. 
It  was  no  good  trying  to  educate  myself.  I  gave  it  up. 
And  then  I  got  what  you  don't  like  me  to  call  the  hump." 

"You  dear  Lola  !  "  I  cried,  laughing.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve any  one  has  ever  made  head  or  tail  out  of  '  Sor- 
dello.' There  once  was  a  man  who  said  there  were  only 
two  intelligible  lines  in  the  poem — the  first  and  the  last 


278  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

— and  that  both  were  lies.  '  Who  will,  may  hear  Sor- 
dello's  story  told,'  and  '  Who  would,  has  heard  Bordello's 
story  told.'     Don't  worry  about  not  understanding  it." 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  I. 

"  That's  a  comfort,"  she  said,  with  a  generous  sigh  of 
relief.  "  How  well  you're  looking  !  "  she  cried  sud- 
denly. "  You're  a  different  man.  What  have  you 
been  doing  to  yourself  ?  " 

"  I've  grown  quite  alive." 

"  Good  !  Delightful !  So  am  I.  Quite  alive  now, 
thank  you." 

She  looked  it,  in  spite  of  the  black  outdoor  costume. 
But  there  was  a  dash  of  white  at  her  throat  and  some 
white  lilies  of  the  valley  in  her  bosom,  and  a  white 
feather  in  her  great  black  hat  poised  with  a  Gains- 
borough swagger  on  the  mass  of  her  bronze  hair. 

"  It's  the  spring,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it's  the  spring." 

She  approached  me  and  brushed  a  few  specks  of  dust 
from  my  shoulder. 

"  You  want  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  Simon." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  I,  glancing  hastily  over  the  blue 
serge  suit  in  which  I  had  lounged  at  Mustapha  Supe- 
rieur.     "  I  suppose  I  do." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  my  wardrobe  generally  needed 
replenishing.  I  had  been  unaccustomed  to  think  of 
these  things,  the  excellent  Rogers  and  his  predecessors 
having  done  most  of  the  thinking  for  me. 

"  I'll  go  to  Poole's  at  once,"  said  I. 

And  then  it  struck  me,  to  my  whimsical  dismay,  that 
in  the  present  precarious  state  of  my  finances,  especially 
in  view  of  my  decision  to  abandon  political  journalism 
in  favour  of  I  knew  not  what  occupation,  I  could  not 
afford  to  order  clothes  largely  from  a  fashionable  tailor. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  279 

"  I  shouldn't  have  mentioned  it,"  said  Lola  apolo- 
getically, "  but  you're  always  so  spick  and  span." 

"  And  now  I'm  getting  shabby  !  " 

I  threw  back  my  head  and  laughed  at  the  new  and 
comical  conception  of  Simon  de  Gex  down  at  heel. 

"  Oh,  not  shabby  !  "  echoed  Lola. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "  The  days  of  purple  and 
fine  linen  are  voybei.  You'll  have  to  put  up  with  me  in 
a  threadbare  coat  and  frayed  cuffs  and  ragged  hems  to 
my  trousers." 

Lola  declared  that  I  was  talking  rubbish. 

"  Not  quite  such  rubbish  as  you  may  think,  my  dear. 
Shall  you  mind  ?  " 

"  It  would  break  my  heart.  But  why  do  you  talk  so  ? 
You  can't  be — as  poor — as  that  ?  " 

Her  face  manifested  such  tragic  concern  that  I 
laughed.  Besides,  the  idea  of  personal  poverty  amused 
me.  When  I  gave  up  my  political  work  I  should  only 
have  what  I  had  saved  from  the  wreck — some  two  hun- 
dred a  year — to  support  me  until  I  should  find  some 
other  means  of  livelihood.  It  was  enough  to  keep  me 
from  starvation,  and  the  little  economies  I  had  begun 
to  practise  afforded  me  enjoyment.  On  the  other  hand, 
how  folks  regulated  their  balance-sheets  so  as  to  live  on 
two  hundred  a  year  I  had  but  a  dim  notion.  In  the 
course  of  our  walk  from  Barbara's  Building  to  the  Judds 
the  night  before  I  had  asked  Campion.  He  had  laughed 
somewhat  grimly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  run  an  asylum  for  spend- 
thrift plutocrats  ;  but  if  you  want  to  see  how  people  live 
and  bring  up  large  families  on  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  I 
can  show  you  heaps  of  examples." 

This  I  felt  would,  in  itself,  be  knowledge  of  the 
deepest  interest ;  but  it  would  in  no  way  aid  me  to  solve 
my  own  economic  difficulty.    I  was  always  being  brought 


28o  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

up  suddenly  against  the  problem  in  some  form  or  another, 
and,  as  I  say,  it  caused  me  considerable  amusement. 

"  I  shall  go  on  happily  enough,"  said  I,  reassuringly. 
"  In  the  meantime,  let  us  go  and  see  the  lions  and 
tigers." 

We  started.  The  electric  brougham  glided  along 
comfortably  through  the  sunlit  streets.  A  feeling  of 
physical  and  spiritual  content  stole  over  me.  Our 
hands  met  and  lingered  a  long  time  in  a  sympathetic 
clasp.  Whatever  fortune  held  in  store  for  me  here  at 
least  I  had  an  inalienable  possession.  For  some  time 
we  said  nothing,  and  when  our  eyes  met  she  smiled.  I 
think  she  had  never  felt  my  heart  so  near  to  hers.  At 
last  we  broke  the  silence  and  talked  of  ordinary  things.  I 
told  her  of  my  vigil  overnight  and  my  undertaking  to  look 
after  the  Judds.  She  listened  with  great  interest.  When 
I  had  finished  my  tale,  she  said  almost  passionately  : 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  do  something  like  that !  " 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  I  came  from  those  people.  My  grand- 
father swept  the  cages  in  Jamrach's  down  by  the  docks. 
He  died  of  drink.  He  used  to  live  in  one  horrible, 
squalid  room  near  by.  I  remember  my  father  taking  me 
to  see  him  when  I  was  a  little  girl — we  ourselves  weren't 
very  much  better  off  at  that  time.  I've  been  through 
it,"  she  shivered.  "  I  know  what  that  awful  poverty  is. 
Sometimes  it  seems  immoral  of  me  to  live  luxuriously 
as  I  do  now  without  doing  a  hand's  turn  to  help." 

"  Chacun  a  son  metier,  my  dear,"  said  I.     There's  no 
need  to  reproach  yourself." 

"  But  I  think  it  might  be  my  metier,"  she  replied 
earnestly,  "  if  only  I  could  learn  it." 

"  Why  haven't  you  tried  then  ?  " 
'  I've  been  lazy  and  the  opportunity  hasn't  come  my 
way." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  281 

"  I'll  introduce  you  to  Campion,    I  said,  "  and  doubt- 
less he'll  be  able  to  find  something  for  you  to  do.     He 
has  made  a  science  of  the  matter.     I'll  take  you  down 
to  see  him." 
"  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  I.  There  was  a  pause.  Then  an 
idea  struck  me.  "  I  wonder,  my  dear  Lola,  whether  you 
could  apply  that  curious  power  you  have  over  savage 
animals  to  the  taming  of  the  more  brutal  of  humans." 
"  I  wonder,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  you  seize  a  drunken  coster- 
monger  in  the  act  of  jumping  on  his  wife  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck,  and  reduce  him  to  such  pulp  that  he  sat  up  on 
his  tail  and  begged." 

"  Oh,    Simon  !  "    she   exclaimed   reproachfully.     "  I 
quite  thought  you  were  serious." 

"  So  I  am,  my  dear,"  I  returned  quickly,  "  as  serious 
as  I  can  be." 

She  laughed.  "  Do  you  remember  the  first  day  you 
came  to  see  me  ?  You  said  that  I  could  train  any 
human  bear  to  dance  to  whatever  tune  I  pleased.  I 
wonder  if  the  same  thought  was  at  the  back  of  your  head." 
"  It  wasn't,"  said  I.  "  It  was  a  bad  and  villainous 
thought.  I  came  under  the  impression  that  you  were 
a  dangerous  seductress." 

She  turned  her  dark  golden  eyes  on  me  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  mockery  in  their  tenderness. 
"  And  I'm  not  ?  " 

Oh,  that  spring  day,  that  delicious  tingle  in  the  air, 
that  laughing  impertinence  of  the  budding  trees  in  the 
park  through  which  we  were  then  driving,  that  envelop- 
ing sense  of  fragrance  and  the  nearness  and  the  dearness 
of  her  !  Oh,  that  overcharge  of  vitality  !  I  leaned  my 
head  to  hers  so  that  my  lips  nearly  touched  her  ear. 
My  voice  shook. 


282  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  You're  a  seductress  and  a  witch  and  a  sorceress  and 
an  enchantress." 

The  blood  rose  to  her  dark  face.   She  half  closed  her  eyes. 

"  What  else  am  I  ?  "  she  murmured. 

But,  alas  !  I  had  not  time  to  answer,  for  the  brougham 
stopped  at  the  gates  of  the  Zoological  Gardens.  We 
both  awakened  from  our  foolishness.  My  hand  was  on 
the  door-handle  when  she  checked  me. 

"  What's  the  good  of  a  mind  if  you  can't  change  it  ? 
I  don't  feel  in  a  mood  for  wild  beasts  to-day,  and  I  know 
you  don't  care  to  see  me  fooling  about  with  them.  I 
would  much  rather  sit  quiet  and  talk  to  you." 

With  a  woman  who  wants  to  sacrifice  herself  there  is 
no  disputing.  Besides,  I  had  no  desire  to  dispute.  I 
acquiesced.     We  agreed  to  continue  our  drive. 

"  We'll  go  round  by  Hampstead  Heath,"  she  said  to 
the  chauffeur.  As  soon  as  we  were  in  motion  again,  she 
drew  ever  so  little  nearer  and  said,  in  her  lowest,  richest 
notes,  and  with  a  coquetry  that  was  bewildering  on 
account  of  its  frankness  : 

"  What  were  we  talking  of  before  we  pulled  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  were  talking  of,"  I  said,  "  but 
we  seem  to  have  trodden  on  the  fringe  of  a  fairy-tale." 

"  Can't  we  tread  on  it  again  ?  "     She  laughed  happily. 

"  You  have  only  to  cast  the  spell  of  your  witchery 
over  me  again." 

She  drew  yet  a  little  nearer  and  whispered  :  ''I'm 
trying  to  do  it  as  hard  as  I  can." 

An  adorable  softness  came  into  her  eyes,  and  her  hand 
instinctively  closed  round  mine  in  its  boneless  clasp. 
The  long  pent-up  longing  of  the  woman  vibrated  from 
her  in  waves  that  shook  me  to  my  soul.  My  senses 
swam.  Her  face  quivered  glorious  before  me  in  a  black 
world.  Her  lips  were  parted.  Careless  of  all  the  eyes 
in  all  the  houses  in  the  Avenue  Road,  St.  John's  Wood, 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  283 

and  in  the  head  of  a  telegraph-boy  whom  I  only  noticed 
afterwards,  I  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

All  the  fulness  and  strength  of  life  danced  through 
my  veins. 

""  1  told  you  I  was  quite  alive  !  "  I  said  with  idiotic 
exultation. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  back.  "  Why  did  you 
do  that  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  Because  I  love  you,"  said  I.     "  It  has  come  at  last." 

Where  we  drove  I  have  no  recollection.  Presumably 
an  impression  of  green  rolling  plain  with  soft  uplands  in 
the  distance  signified  that  we  passed  along  Hampstead 
Heath  ;  the  wide  thoroughfare  with  villa  residences  on 
either  side  may  have  been  Kilburn  High  Road  ;  the 
flourishing,  busy,  noisy  suburb  may  have  been  Kilburn  ; 
the  street  leading  thence  to  the  Marble  Arch  may  have 
been  Maida  Vale.  To  me  they  were  paths  in  Dream- 
land. We  spoke  but  little  and  what  we  did  say  was  in 
the  simple,  commonplace  language  which  all  men  use 
in  the  big  crises  of  life. 

There  was  no  doubt  now  of  my  choice.  I  loved  her. 
Love  had  come  to  me  at  last.  That  was  all  I  knew  at 
that  hour  and  all  I  cared  to  know. 

Lola  was  the  first  to  awake  from  Dreamland.  She 
shivered.     I  asked  her  whether  she  felt  cold. 

"  No.  I  can't  beheve  that  you  love  me.  I  can't. 
I  can't  !  " 

I  smiled  in  a  masterful  way.     "  I  can  soon  show  you 

that  I  do." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  afraid,  Simon,  I'm  afraid." 

"  What  of  ?  " 
"  Myself." 
"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  can't  explain.  I  don't  know  how 
to.   I've  been  wrong — horribly  wrong.     I'm  ashamed." 


284  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

She  gripped  her  hands  together  and  looked  down  at 
them.  I  bent  forward  so  as  to  see  her  face,  which  was 
full  of  pain. 

"  But,  dearest  of  all  women,"  I  cried,  "  what  in  the 
world  have  you  to  be  ashamed  of  ?  " 

She  paused,  moistened  her  lips  with  her  tongue,  and 
then  broke  out  : 

"  I'll  tell  you.  A  decent  lady  like  your  Eleanor 
Faversham  wouldn't  tell.  But  I  can't  keep  these 
things  in.  Didn't  you  begin  by  saying  I  was  a  seduc- 
tress ?  No,  no,  let  me  talk.  Didn't  you  say  I  could 
make  a  man  do  what  I  wanted  ?  Well,  I  wanted  you 
to  kiss  me.  And  now  you've  done  it,  you  think  you 
love  me  ;   but  you  don't,  you  can't." 

"  You're  talking  the  wickedest  nonsense  that  ever 
proceeded  out  of  the  lips  of  a  loving  woman,"  I  said 
aghast.  "  I  repeat  in  the  most  solemn  way  that  I 
love  you  with  all  my  heart." 

"  In  common  decency  you  couldn't  say  otherwise." 
Again  I  saw  the  futility  of  disputation.     I  put  my 
hand  on  hers. 

"  Time  will  show,  dear.  At  any  rate,  we  have  had 
our  hour  of  fairyland." 

"  I  wish  we  hadn't,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  see  it 
was  only  my  sorcery,  as  you  call  it,  that  took  us  there  ? 
I  meant  us  to  go." 

At  last  we  reached  Cadogan  Gardens.     I  descended 
and  handed  her  out,  and  we  entered  the  hall  of  the 
mansions.     The  porter  stood  with  the  lift  door  open. 
"  I'm  coming  up  to  knock  all  this  foolishness  out 
of  your  head." 

"  No,  don't,  please,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  she 
whispered  imploringly.  "  I  must  be  alone — to  think 
it  all  out.  It's  only  because  I  love  you  so.  And  don't 
come  to  see  me  for  a  day  or  two — say  two  days.     This 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  285 

is  Wednesday.  Come  on  Friday.  You  think  it  over 
as  well.  And  if  it's  really  true — I'll  know  then — when 
you  come.  Good-bye,  dear.  Make  Gray  drive  you 
wherever  you  want  to  go." 

She  wrung  my  hand,  turned  and  entered  the  lift. 
The  gates  swung  to  and  she  mounted  out  of  sight.  I 
went  slowly  back  to  the  brougham,  and  gave  the 
chauffeur  the  address  of  my  eyrie.  He  touched  his  hat. 
I  got  in  and  we  drove  off.  And  then,  for  the  first  time, 
it  struck  me  that  an  about-to-be-shabby  gentleman 
with  a  beggarly  two  hundred  a  year  ought  not,  in 
spite  of  his  quarterings,  to  be  contemplating  marriage 
with  a  wealthy  woman  who  kept  an  electric  brougham. 
The  thought  hit  me  like  a  stone  in  the  midriff. 

What  on  earth  was  to  be  done  ?  My  pride  rose  up 
like  the  deus  ex  machina  in  a  melodrama  and  forbade 
the  banns.  To  live  on  Lola's  money — the  idea  was 
intolerable.  Equally  intolerable  was  the  idea  of 
earning  an  income  by  means  against  the  honesty  of 
which  my  soul  clamoured  aloud. 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried.  "  Is  life,  now  I've  got  to 
it,  nothing  but  an  infinite  series  of  dilemmas  ?  No 
sooner  am  I  off  one  than  I'm  on  another.  No  sooner 
do  I  find  that  Lola  and  not  Eleanor  Faversham  is  the 
woman  sent  dowTi  by  Heaven  to  be  my  mate  than  I 
realise  the  same  old  dilemma — Lola  on  one  horn  and 
Eleanor  replaced  on  the  other  by  Pride  and  Honour 
and  all  sorts  of  capital-lettered  considerations.  Life  is 
the  very  Deuce,"  said  I,  with  a  wry  appreciation  of 
the  subtlety  of  language. 

Why  did  Lola  say  :  "  Your  Eleanor  Faversham  "  ? 

I  had  enough  to  think  over  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
But  I  slept  peacefully.  Light  loves  had  come  and  gone 
in  the  days  past  ;  but  now  for  the  first  time  love  that 
was  not  light  had  come  into  my  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  The  Lord  will  find  a  way  out  of  the  dilemma,"  said  I 
confidently  to  myself  as  I  neared  Cadogan  Gardens  two 
days  after  the  revelatory  drive.  "  Lola  is  in  love  with 
me  and  I  am  in  love  with  Lola,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
keep  us  apart  but  my  pride  over  a  matter  of  a  few 
ha'pence."  I  felt  peculiarly  jaunty.  I  had  just  posted 
to  Finch  the  last  of  the  articles  I  had  agreed  to  write 
for  his  reactionary  review,  and  only  a  couple  of  articles 
for  another  journal  remained  to  be  written  in  order  to 
complete  my  literary  engagements.  Soon  I  should  be 
out  of  the  House  of  Bondage  in  which  I  had  been  a 
slave,  at  first  willingly  and  now  rebelliously,  from  my 
cradle.  The  great  wide  world  with  its  infinite  oppor- 
tunities for  development  received  my  liberated  spirit. 
I  had  broken  the  shackles  of  caste.  I  had  thrown  off 
the  perfumed  garments  of  epicureanism,  the  vesture  of 
my  servitude.  My  emotions,  once  stifled  in  the 
enervating  atmosphere,  now  awoke  fresh  and  strong  in 
the  free  air.  I  was  elemental — the  man  wanting  the 
woman  ;  and  I  was  happy  because  I  knew  I  was  going 
to  get  her.  Such  must  be  the  state  of  being  of  a  dragon- 
fly on  a  sunny  day.  And — shall  I  confess  it  ? — I  had 
obeyed  the  dragon-fly's  instinct  and  attired  myself  in 
the  most  resplendent  raiment  in  my  wardrobe.  My 
morning-coat  was  still  irreproachable,  my  patent  leather 
boots  still  gleamed,  and  having  had  some  business  in 
Piccadilly  I  had  stepped  into  my  hatter's  and  emerged 
with  my  silk  hat  newly  ironed.  I  positively  strutted 
along  the  pavement. 

286 

I 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  287 

For  two  days  I  had  not  seen  her  or  heard  from  her  or 
written  to  her.  I  had  scrupulously  respected  her  wishes, 
foohsh  though  they  were.  Now  was  I  on  my  way  to 
convince  her  that  my  love  was  not  a  moment's  surge  of 
the  blood  on  a  spring  afternoon.  I  would  take  her  into 
my  arms  at  once,  after  the  way  of  men,  and  she,  after 
the  way  of  women,  would  yield  adorably.  I  had  no 
doubt  of  it,  I  tasted  in  anticipation  the  bliss  of  that 
first  embrace,  as  if  I  had  never  kissed  a  woman  in  my 
life.  And,  indeed,  what  woman  had  I  kissed  with  the 
passion  that  now  ran  through  my  veins  ?  In  that 
embrace  all  the  ghosts  of  the  past  women  would  be  laid 
for  ever  and  a  big  and  lusty  future  would  make  glorious 
beginning.  "  By  Heaven,"  I  cried,  almost  articulately, 
"  with  the  splendour  of  the  world  at  my  command  why 
should  I  not  write  plays,  novels,  poems,  rhapsodies,  so  as 
to  tell  the  blind,  groping,  loveless  people  what  it  is  like  ? 

"  Take  me  up  to  Madame  Brandt  !  "  said  I  to  the  lift- 
porter.  "  Madame  Brandt  is  not  in  town,  sir,"  said 
the  man. 

I  looked  at  him  open-mouthed.    "  Not  in  town  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  has  gone  abroad,  sir.  She  left  with  a 
lot  of  luggage  yesterday  and  her  maid,  and  now  the  flat 
is  shut  up." 

"  Impossible  !  "  I  cried,  aghast. 

The  porter  smiled.  "  I  can  only  tell  you  what  has 
happened,  sir." 

"  Where  has  she  gone  to  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say,  sir." 

"  Her  letters  ?  Has  she  left  no  address  to  which 
they  are  to  be  forwarded  ?  " 

"  Not  with  me,  sir." 

"  Did  she  say  when  she  was  coming  back  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.    But  she  dismissed  her  cook  with  a  month's 


288  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

wages,  so  it  seems  as  though  she  was  gone  for  a  good 
spell." 

"  What  time  yesterday  did  she  leave  ?  " 

"  After  lunch.  The  cabman  was  to  drive  her  to 
Victoria- — London,  Chatham  and  Dover  Railway." 

"That  looks  hke  the  2.20  to  Paris,"  said  I. 

But  the  lift-porter  knew  nothing  of  this.  He  had 
given  me  all  the  information  in  his  power.  I  thanked 
him  and  went  out  into  the  sunshine  a  blinking,  dazed, 
bewildered  and  piteously  crushed  man. 

She  had  gone,  without  drum  or  trumpet,  maid  and 
baggage  and  all,  having  dismissed  her  cook  and  shut  up 
the  flat.  It  was  incredible.  I  wandered  aimlessly  about 
Chelsea  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  what  to  do.  Should 
I  go  to  Paris  and  bring  her  back  by  main  force  ?  But 
how  did  I  know  that  she  had  gone  to  Paris  ?  And  if 
she  was  there  how  could  I  discover  her  address  ? 
Suddenly  an  idea  struck  me.  She  would  not  have  left 
Quast  and  the  cattery  in  the  same  unceremonious  fashion 
to  get  on  as  best  they  might.  She  would  have  given 
Quast  money  and  directions.  At  any  rate,  he  would 
know  more  than  the  lift-porter  of  the  mansions.  I 
decided  to  go  to  him  forthwith. 

By  means  of  trains  and  omnibuses  I  arrived  at  the 
house  in  the  httle  street  off  Rosebery  Avenue,  Clerken- 
well,  where  the  maker  of  gymnastic  appliances  had  his 
being.  I  knocked  at  the  door.  A  grubby  man 
appeared.     I  inquired  for  Quast. 

Quast  had  left  that  morning  in  a  van,  taking  his 
cages  of  cats  with  him.  He  had  gone  abroad  and  was 
never  coming  back  again,  not  if  he  knew  it,  said  the 
grubby  man.  The  cats  were  poison  and  Quast  was  a 
low-down  foreigner,  and  it  would  cost  him  a  year's  rent 
to  put  the  place  in  order  again.    Whereupon  he  slammed 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  289 

the  door  in  my  face  and  left  me  disconsolate  on  the 
doorstep. 

The  only  other  person  with  whom  I  knew  Lola  to  be 
on  friendly  terms  was  Sir  Joshua  Oldfield,  I  entered 
the  first  public  telephone  office  I  came  to  and  rang  him 
up.  He  had  not  seen  Lola  for  a  week,  and  had  heard 
nothing  from  her  relating  to  her  sudden  departure. 
I  went  sadly  home  to  my  bird-cage  in  Victoria  Street, 
feeling  that  now  at  last  the  abomination  of  desolation 
had  overspread  my  life. 

Why  had  she  gone  ?  What  was  the  meaning  of  it  ? 
Why  not  a  line  of  explanation  ?  And  the  simultaneous 
disappearance  of  Quast  and  the  cats — what  did  tha-t 
betoken  ?  Had  she  been  summoned,  for  any  reason, 
to  the  maison  de  sante  where  Anastasius  Papadopoulos 
was  incarcerated  ?  If  so,  why  this  secrecy  ?  Why 
should  Lola  of  all  people  side  with  Destiny  and  make  a 
greater  Tom  Fool  of  me  than  ever  ?  This  could  be  no 
other  than  the  final  jest. 

I  do  not  care  to  remember  what  I  did  and  said  in  the 
privacy  of  my  little  room.  There  are  things  a  man 
locks  away  even  from  himself. 

I  was  in  the  midst  of  my  misery  when  the  bell  of  my 
tiny  fiat  rang.  I  opened  the  door  and  found  my  sister 
Agatha  smiling  on  the  threshold. 

"  Hallo  !  "  said  I,  gazing  at  her  stupidly. 

"  You're  not  effusive  in  your  welcome,  my  dear 
Simon,"  she  remarked.  "  Won't  you  ask  me  to  come 
in?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  I.     "  Come  in  !  " 

She  entered  and  looked  round  my  little  sitting-room. 

"  What  a  pill-box  in  the  sky  !  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
as  tiny  as  this.  I  think  I  shall  call  you  Saint  Simon 
Styhtes." 


290  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  was  in  no  mood  for  Agatha.  I  bowed  ironically  and 
inquired  to  what  I  owed  the  honour  of  the  visit. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favour — a  great  favour.  I'm 
dying  to  see  the  new  dancers  at  the  Palace  Theatre. 
They  say  they  dance  on  everything  except  their  feet. 
I've  got  a  box.  Tom  promised  to  take  me.  Now  he 
finds  he  can't.  I've  telephoned  all  over  the  place  for 
something  uncompromising  in  or  out  of  trousers  to 
accompany  me  and  I  can't  get  hold  of  anybody.  So 
I've  come  to  you." 

"  I'm  vastly  flattered  !  "  said  I. 

She  dismissed  my  sarcasm  with  bird-like  impatience. 

"  Don't  be  silly.  If  I  had  thought  you  would  like 
it,  I  should  have  come  to  you  first.  I  didn't  want  to 
bore  you.  But  I  did  think  you  would  pull  me  out  of 
a  hole." 

"  What's  the  hole  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I've  paid  for  a  box  and  I  can't  go  by  myself.  How 
can  I  ?     Do  take  me,  there's  a  dear." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  dull  for  haunts  of  merriment," 
said  I. 

She  regarded  me  reproachfully. 

"  It  isn't  often  I  ask  you  to  put  yourself  out  for  me. 
The  last  time  was  when  I  asked  you  to  be  baby's  god- 
father. And  a  pretty  godfather  you've  been.  I  bet 
you  anything  you  don't  remember  the  name." 

"  I  do,"  said  I. 

'  What's  it  then  ?  " 

"  It's — it's "  I  snapped  my  fingers.     The  brat's 

name  had  for  the  moment  gone  out  of  my  distracted 
head.     She  broke  into  a  laugh  and  ran  her  arm  through 


mme. 

"  Dorcas." 


Yes,  of  course — Dorcas,     I  was  going  to  say  so. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  291 

"  Then  you  were  going  to  say  wrong,  for  it's  Dorothy. 
Now  you  must  come — for  the  sake  of  penance." 

"  I'll  do  anything  you  please  !  "  I  cried  in  desperation, 
"  so  long  as  you'll  not  talk  to  me  of  my  own  affairs  and 
will  let  me  sit  as  glum  as  ever  I  choose." 

Then  for  the  first  time  she  manifested  some  interest 
in  my  mood.  She  put  her  head  to  one  side  and  scanned 
my  face  narrowly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Simon  ?  " 

"  I've  absorbed  too  much  life  the  last  few  days," 
said  I,  "  and  now  I've  got  indigestion." 

"  I'm  sorry,  dear  old  boy,  whatever  it  is,"  she  said 
affectionately.  "  Come  round  and  dine  at  7.30,  and 
I  promise  not  to  worry  you." 

What  could  I  do  ?  I  accepted.  The  alternative  to 
procuring  Agatha  an  evening's  amusement  was  pacing 
up  and  down  my  bird-cage  and  beating  my  wings 
(figuratively)  and  perhaps  my  head  (literally)  against 
the  bars. 

"  It's  awfully  sweet  of  you,"  said  Agatha.  "  Now 
I'll  rush  home  and  dress," 

I  accompanied  her  down  the  lift  to  the  front  door, 
and  attended  her  to  her  carriage. 

"  I'll  do  you  a  good  turn  some  day,  dear,"  she  said 
as  she  drove  off. 

I  rather  flatter  myself  that  Agatha  had  no  reason  to 
complain  of  my  dulness  at  dinner.  In  my  converse 
with  her  I  was  faced  by  various  alternatives.  I  might 
lay  bare  my  heart,  tell  her  of  my  love  for  Lola  and  my 
bewildered  despair  at  her  desertion  ;  this  I  knew  she 
would  no  more  understand  tlian  if  I  had  proclaimed  a 
mad  passion  for  a  young  lady  who  liad  waited  on  me  at 
a  tea-shop,  or  for  a  cassowary  at  the  Zoo  ;  even  the  best 
and  most  affectionate  of  sisters  have  their  sympathetic 


292  3IM0N  THE  JESTER 

limitations.  I  might  have  maintained  a  mysterious 
and  Byronic  gloom  ;  this  would  have  been  sheer  bad 
manners.  I  might  have  attributed  my  lack  of  spon- 
taneous gaiety  to  tooth-ache  or  stomach-ache  ;  this 
would  have  aroused  sisterly  and  matronly  sympathies, 
and  I  should  have  had  the  devil's  own  job  to  escape 
from  the  house  unpoisoned  by  the  nostrums  that  lurk 
in  the  medicine-chest  of  every  well-conducted  family. 
Agatha,  I  knew,  had  a  peculiarly  Borgiaesque  equip- 
ment. Lastly,  there  was  the  worldly  device,  which  I 
adopted,  of  dissimulating  the  furnace  of  my  affliction 
beneath  a  smiling  exterior.  Agatha,  therefore,  found 
me  an  entertaining  guest  and  drove  me  to  the  Palace 
Theatre  in  high  good  humour. 

There,  however,  I  could  resign  my  role  of  entertainer 
in  favour  of  the  professionals  on  the  stage.  I  sat  back 
in  my  corner  of  the  box  and  gave  myself  up  to  my 
harassing  concerns.  Young  ladies  warbled,  comic 
acrobats  squirted  syphons  at  each  other  and  kicked 
each  other  in  the  stomach,  jugglers  threw  plates  and 
brass  balls  with  dizzying  skill,  the  famous  dancers 
gyrated  pyrotechnically,  the  house  applauded  with 
delight,  Agatha  laughed  and  chuckled  and  clapped  her 
hands  and  I  remained  silent,  unnoticed  and  unnoticing 
in  my  reflective  corner,  longing  for  the  foolery  to  end. 
Where  was  Lola  ?  Why  had  she  forsaken  me  ?  What 
remedy,  in  the  fiend's  name,  was  there  for  this  heart 
torture  within  me  ?  The  most  excruciating  agonies  of 
the  little  pain  inside  were  child's  play  to  this.  I  bit  my 
lips  so  as  not  to  groan  aloud  and  contorted  my  features 
into  the  semblance  of  a  smile. 

During  a  momentary  interval  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  box  door.  I  said,  "  Come  in  !  "  The  door  opened, 
and  there,  to  my  utter  amazement,  stood  Dale  Kyn- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  293 

nersley — Dale,  sleek,  alert,  smiling,  attired  in  the  very 
latest  nicety  of  evening  dress  affected  by  contemporary 
youth — Dale  such  as  I  knew  and  loved  but  six  months 
ago. 

He  came  forward  to  Agatha,  who  was  little  lesis 
astounded  than  myself. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Lady  Durrell.  I'm  in  the  stalls  with 
Harry  Essendale.  I  tried  to  catch  your  eye,  but 
couldn't.  So  I  thought  I'd  come  up."  He  turned  to 
me  with  frank  outstretched  hand,  "  How  do,  Simon  ?  " 

I  grasped  his  hand  and  murmured  something  un- 
intelligible. The  thing  was  so  extraordinary,  so  un- 
expected that  my  wits  went  wandering.  Dale  carried 
off  the  situation  lightly.  It  was  he  who  was  the  man  of 
the  world,  and  I  the  unresourceful  stumbler. 

"  He's  looking  ripping,  isn't  he,  Lady  Durrell  ?  I 
met  old  Oldfield  the  other  day,  and  he  was  raving  about 
your  case.  Thing  has  never  been  done  before.  Says 
they're  going  mad  over  your  chap  in  Paris — they've 
given  him  medals  and  wreaths  and  decorations  till  he 
goes  about  like  a  prize  bull  at  a  fair.  By  Jove,  it's 
good  to  see  you  again." 

"  You  might  have  taken  an  earlier  opportunity," 
Agatha  remarked  with  some  acidity. 

"  So  I  might,"  retorted  Dale  blandly  ;  "  but  when 
a  man's  a  born  ass  it  takes  him  some  time  to  cultivate 
sense  !  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  for  a  long  time, 
Simon — and  to-night  I  just  couldn't  resist  it.  You 
don't  want  to  kick  me  out  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  said  I,  somewhat  brokenly,  for  the 

welcome  sight  of  his  face  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 

aroused  emotions  which  even  now  I  do  not  care  to 

analyse.     "  It  was  generous  of  you  to  come  up." 

He  coloured.     "  Rot  !  "  said  he,  in  his  breezy  way. 


294  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  Hallo  !  The  curtain's  going  up.  What's  the  next 
item  ?     Oh,  those  fool  dogs  !  " 

*'  I  adore  performing  dogs  !  "  said  Agatha,  looking 
toward  the  stage. 

He  turned  to  me.     "  Do  you  ?  " 

The  last  thing  on  earth  I  desired  to  behold  at  that 
moment  was  a  performing  animal.  My  sensitiveness 
led  me  to  suspect  a  quizzical  look  in  Dale's  eye. 
Fortunately,  he  did  not  wait  for  my  answer,  but  went 
on  in  a  boyish  attempt  to  appease  Agatha. 

"  I  don't  despise  them,  you  know,  Lady  Durrell,  but 
I've  seen  them  twice  before.  They're  really  rather 
good.  There's  a  football  match  at  the  end  which  is 
quite  exciting." 

"  Oh,  the  beauties  !  "  cried  Agatha  over  her  shoulder 
as  the  dogs  trotted  on  to  the  stage.  I  nodded  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  remark,  and  she  plunged  into 
rapt  contemplation  of  the  act.  Dale  and  I  stood  at 
the  back  of  the  box.     Suddenly  he  whispered  : 

"  Come  out  into  the  corridor.  I've  something  to 
say  to  you." 

"  Certainly,"  said  I,  and  followed  him  out  of  the  box. 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  looked  at  me 
with  the  defiant  and  you-be-damned  air  of  the  young 
Briton  who  was  about  to  commit  a  gracious  action.  I 
knew  what  he  was  going  to  say.  I  could  tell  by  his 
manner.     I  dreaded  it,  and  yet  I  loved  him  for  it. 

"  Why  say  anything,  my  dear  boy  ?  "  I  asked.  "  You 
want  to  be  friends  with  me  again,  and  God  knows  I 
want  to  be  friends  again  with  you.     Why  talk  ?  " 

"  I've  got  to  get  it  off  my  chest,"  said  he,  in  his  so 
familiar  vernacular.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I've 
been  every  end  of  a  silly  ass  and  I  want  you  to  forgive 


me." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  295 

I  vow  I  have  never  felt  so  miserably  giiilty  towards 
any  human  being  as  I  did  at  that  moment.  I  have 
never  felt  such  a  smug-faced  hypocrite.  It  was  a 
humiliating  position.  I  had  inflicted  on  him  a  most 
grievous  wrong,  and  here  he  was  pleading  for  forgiveness. 
I  could  not  pronounce  the  words  of  pardon.  He  mis- 
interpreted my  silence. 

"  I  know  I've  behaved  rottenly  to  you  since  you've 
been  back,  but  the  first  step's  always  so  difficult.  You 
mustn't  bear  a  grudge  against  me." 

"  My  dear  boy  !  "  I  cried,  my  hand  on  hie  shoulder, 
touched  to  the  heart  by  his  simple  generosity,  "  don't 
let  us  talk  of  grudges  and  forgiveness.  All  I  want  to 
know  is  whether  you're  contented  ?  " 

"  Contented  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I  should  just  think  I 
am.     I'm  the  happiest  ass  that  doesn't  eat  thistles  !  " 

"  Explain  yourself,  my  dear  Dale,"  said  I,  relapsing 
into  my  old  manner. 

"I'm  going  to  marry  Maisie  EUerton." 

I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  inside  the 
box. 

"  Agatha,"  said  I,  "  leave  those  confounded  dogs  for 
a  moment  and  attend  to  serious  matters.  This  young 
man  has  not  come  up  to  see  either  of  us,  but  to  obtain 
our  congratulations.  He's  going  to  marry  Maisie 
EUerton." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Agatha,  intensely  inte- 
rested. 

A  load  of  responsibility  rolled  off  my  shoulders  like 
Christian's  pack.  I  looked  at  the  dog  football  match 
with  the  interest  of  a  Sheffield  puddler  at  a  Cup-tie,  and 
clapped  my  hands. 

An  hour  or  so  later,  after  we  had  seen  Agatha  home, 
and  Dale  had  incidentally  chucked    Lord  Essendale 


296  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

(the  phrase  is  his  own),  we  were  sitting  over  whisky 
and  soda  and  cigars  in  my  Victoria  Street  fiat.  The 
ingenuousness  of  youth  had  insisted  on  this  prolongation 
of  our  meeting.  He  had  a  thousand  things  to  tell  me. 
They  chiefly  consisted  in  a  reiteration  of  the  statement 
that  he  had  been  a  rampant  and  unimagined  silly  ass, 
and  that  Maisie,  who  knew  the  whole  lunatic  story,  was 
a  brick,  and  a  million  times  too  good  for  him.  When 
he  entered  my  humble  lodging  he  looked  round  in  a 
bewildered  manner, 

"  Why  on  earth  are  you  living  in  this  mouse-trap  ?  " 

"  Agatha  calls  it  a  pill-box.  I  call  it  a  bird-cage.  I  live 
here,  my  dear  boy,  because  it  is  the  utmost  I  can  afford." 

"  Rot !  "  said  he  ;  "  I've  been  your  private  secretary 
and  know  what  your  income  is." 

I  sighed  heavily.  "  I  shall  have  to  get  a  leaflet 
printed  setting  out  the  causes  that  led  to  my  change  of 
fortune.  Then  I  can  hand  it  to  such  of  my  friends  as 
manifest  surprise." 

Indeed,  I  had  grown  so  used  to  the  story  of  my 
lamentable  pursuit  of  the  eumoirous  that  I  rattled  it  off 
mechanically  after  the  manner  of  the  sturdy  beggar 
telling  his  mendacious  tale  of  undeserved  misfortune. 
To  Dale,  however,  it  was  fresh.  He  listened  to  it  open- 
eyed.  When  I  had  concluded,  he  brought  his  hand 
down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  By  Jove,  you're  splendid  !  I  always  said  you  were. 
Just  splendid  !  " 

He  gulped  down  half  a  tumbler  of  whisky  and  soda  to 
hide  his  feelings. 

"  And  you've  been  doing  all  this  whUe  I've  been 
making  a  howling  fool  of  myself  !  Look  here,  Simon, 
you  were  right  all  along  the  line — from  the  very  first 
when  you  tackled  me  about  Lola.    Do  you  remember  ?  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  297 

"  Why  refer  to  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  must  !  "  he  burst  in  quickly.  "  I've  been 
longing  to  put  myself  square  with  you.  By  the  way, 
where  is  Lola  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I,  with  grim  truthfulness. 

"  Don't  know  ?     Has  she  vanished  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  That's  the  end  of  it,  I  suppose.  Poor  Lola  !  She 
was  an  awfully  good  sort,  you  know  !  "  said  Dale,  "  and 
I  won't  deny  I  was  hit.  That's  when  I  came  such  a 
cropper.  But  I  realise  now  how  right  you  were.  I 
was  just  caught  by  the  senses,  nothing  else  ;  and  when 
she  wrote  to  say  that  it  was  all  off  between  us  my 
vanity  suffered — suffered  damnably,  old  chap.  I  lost 
the  election  through  it.  Didn't  attend  to  business. 
That  brought  me  to  my  senses.  Then  Essendale  took 
me  away  yachting,  and  I  had  a  quiet  time  to  think  ; 
and  after  that  I  somehow  took  to  seeing  more  of  Maisie. 
You  know  how  things  happen.  And  I'm  jolly  grateful  to 
you,  old  chap.  You've  saved  me  from  God  knows  what 
complications  !  After  all,  good  sort  as  Lola  is,  it's  rot 
for  a  man  to  go  outside  his  own  class,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  depends  upon  the  man — and  also  the  woman," 
said  I,  beginning  to  derive  peculiar  torture  from  the 
conversation. 

Dale  shook  his  wise  head.  "  It  never  comes  off," 
said  he.  After  a  pause  he  laughed  aloud.  "  Don't  you 
remember  the  lecture  you  gave  me  ?  My  word,  you 
did  talk  !  You  produced  a  string  of  ghastly  instances 
where  the  experiment  had  failed.  Let  me  see,  who 
was  there  ?  Paget,  Merridew,  Bullcn.  Ha  ha  !  No, 
I'm  well  out  of  it,  old  chap — thanks  to  you." 

"  If  any  good  has  come  out  of  this  sorry  business," 
said  I  gravely,  "  I'm  only  too  grateful  to  Providence." 


298  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

He  caught  the  seriousness  of  my  tone. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  touch  on  that  side  of  it,"  he  said 
awkwardly.  "  I  know  what  an  infernal  time  you  had  ! 
It  must  have  been  Gehenna.  I  realise  now  that  it  was 
on  my  account,  and  so  I  can  never  do  enough  to  show 
my  gratitude." 

He  finished  his  glass  of  whisky  and  walked  about  the 
tiny  room. 

"  What  has  always  licked  me,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  is  why  she  never  told  me  she  was  married.  It's  so 
curious,  for  she  was  as  straight  as  they  make  'em.  It's 
devilish  odd  !  " 

"  Yes,"  I  assented  wearily,  for  every  word  of  this 
talk  was  a  new  pain.     "  Devilish  odd  !  " 

"  I  suppose  it's  a  question  of  class  again." 

"  Or  sex,"  said  I. 

"  What  has  sex  to  do  with  being  straight  ?  " 

"  Everything,"  said  I. 

"  Rot !  "  said  Dale. 

I  sighed.  "  I  wish  your  dialectical  vocabulary  were 
not  so  limited." 

He  laughed  and  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Still  the  same  old  Simon.  It  does  my  heart  good 
to  hear  you.     May  I  have  another  whisky  ?  " 

I  took  advantage  of  this  break  to  change  the  con- 
versation. He  had  told  me  nothing  of  his  own  affair 
save  that  he  was  engaged  to  Maisie  Ellerton. 

"  Heavens  !  "  cried  he.     "  Isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"  An  engagement  isn't  an  occupation." 

"  Isn't  it,  by  Jove  ?  "  He  laughed  boyishly.  "  I 
manage,  however,  to  squeeze  in  a  bit  of  work  now  and 
then.  The  mater  has  always  got  plenty  on  hand  for  me, 
and  I  do  things  for  Raggles.  He  has  been  awfully 
decent.     The  first  time  I  met  him  or  any  of  the  chiefs 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  299 

after  the  election  I  was  in  a  blue  funk.  But  no  one 
seemed  to  blame  me  ;  they  all  said  they  were  sorry  ;  and 
now  Raggles  is  looking  out  for  a  constituency  for  me  to 
nurse  for  the  next  General  Election.  Then  things  will 
hum,  I  promise  you  !  " 

He  waved  his  cigar  with  the  air  of  a  young  paladin 
about  to  conquer  the  world.  In  spite  of  my  own  de- 
pression, I  could  not  help  smiling  with  gladness  at  the 
sight  of  him.  With  his  extravagantly  cut  waistcoat,  his 
elaborately  exquisite  white  tie,  his  perfectly  fitting  even- 
ing clothes,  with  his  supple  ease  of  body,  his  charming 
manner,  the  preposterous  fellow  made  as  gallant  a  show 
as  any  ruffling  blade  in  powder  and  red-heeled  shoes. 
He  had  acquired,  too,  an  extra  touch  of  manhood  since 
I  had  seen  him  last.  I  felt  proud  of  him,  conscious  that 
to  the  making  of  him  I  had  to  some  small  degree  con- 
tributed. 

"  You  must  come  out  and  lunch  with  Maisie  and 
me  one  day  this  week,"  said  he.  "  She  would  love  to 
see  you." 

"  Wait  till  you're  married,"  said  I,  "  and  then  we'll 
consider  it.  At  present  Maisie  is  under  the  social 
dominion  of  her  parents." 

"  Well— what  of  it  ?  " 

"  Just  that,"  said  I. 

Then  the  truth  dawned  on  him.  He  grew  excited  and 
said  it  was  damnable.  He  wasn't  going  to  stand  by  and 
see  people  believe  a  lot  of  scandalous  lies  about  me.  He 
had  no  idea  people  had  given  me  the  cold  shoulder.  He 
would  jolly  well  (such  were  his  words)  take  a  something 
(I  forget  the  adjective)  megaphone  and  trumpet  about 
society  what  a  splendid  fellow  I  was. 

"  I'll  tell  everybody  the  whole  silly-ass  story  about 
myself  from  beginning  to  end,"  he  declared. 


300  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  checked  him.  "  You're  very  generous,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  I,  "  but  you'll  do  me  a  favour  by  letting  folk 
believe  what  they  like."  And  then  I  explained,  as 
delicately  as  I  could,  how  his  sudden  championship 
could  be  of  httle  advantage  to  me,  and  might  do  him 
considerable  harm. 

In  his  impetuous  manner  he  cut  short  my  carefully 
expressed  argument. 

"  Rubbish  !  Heaps  of  people  I  know  are  already 
convinced  that  I  was  keeping  Lola  Brandt  and  that  you 
took  her  from  me  in  the  ordinary  vulgar  way " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  interrupted,  shrinking.  "  That's  why 
I  order  you,  in  God's  name,  to  leave  the  whole  thing 
alone." 

"  But  confound  it,  man  !  "  he  said.  "  I've  come  out 
of  it  all  right,  why  shouldn't  you  ?  Even  supposing 
Lola  was  a  loose  woman " 

I  threw  up  my  hand.     "  Stop  !  " 

He  looked  disconcerted  for  a  moment. 

"  We  know  she  isn't,but  for  the  sake  of  argument " 

"  Don't  argue,"  said  I.     "  Let  us  drop  it." 

"  But  hang  it  all !  "  he  shouted  in  desperation.  "  Can't 
I  do  something  ?     Can't  I  go  and  kick  somebody  ?  " 

I  lost  my  self-control.  I  rose  and  put  both  my  hands 
on  his  shoulders  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"  You  can  kick  anybody  you  please  whom  you  hear 
breathe  a  word  against  the  honour  and  purity  of 
Madame  Lola  Brandt." 

Then  I  walked  away,  knowing  I  had  betrayed  myself, 
and  tried  to  light  a  cigar  with  fingers  that  shook.  There 
was  a  pause.  Dale  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace, 
one  foot  on  the  fender.  The  cigar  took  some  lighting. 
The  pause  grew  irksome. 

"  My  regard  for  Madame  Brandt,"  said  I  at  last,  "  is 
such  that  I  don't  wish  to  discuss  her  with  any  one." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  301 

I  looked  at  Dale  and  met  his  keen  eyes  fixed  on  me. 
The  faintest  shadow  of  a  smile  played  about  his  mouth. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  dryly,  "  we  won't  discuss  her. 
But  all  the  same,  my  dear  Simon,  I  can't  help  being 
interested  in  her  ;  and  as  you're  obviously  the  same, 
it  seems  rather  curious  that  you  don't  know  where 
she  is." 

"  Do  you  doubt  me  ?  "  I  asked,  somewhat  staggered 
by  his  tone. 

"  Good  heavens,  no.  But  if  she  has  disappeared,  I'm 
convinced  that  something  has  happened  which  I  know 
nothing  of.     Of  course,  it's  none  of  my  business." 

There  was  a  new  and  startling  note  of  assurance  in  his 
voice.  Certainly  he  had  developed  during  the  past  few 
months.  What  I  had  done.  Heaven  only  knows.  Mis- 
fortune, which  is  supposed  to  be  formative  of  character, 
seemed  to  have  turned  mine  into  pie.  How  can  I  other- 
wise account  for  my  not  checking  the  lunatic  impulse 
that  prompted  my  next  words. 

"  Well,  something  has  happened,"  said  I,  "  and  if 
we're  to  be  friends,  you  had  better  know  it.  Two  days 
ago,  for  the  first  time,  I  told  Madame  Brandt  that  I 
loved  her.  This  very  afternoon  I  went  to  get  her 
answer  to  my  question — would  she  marry  me  ? — and 
I  found  that  she  had  disappeared  without  leaving  an 
address  behind  her.  So  whenever  you  hear  her  name 
mentioned  you  can  just  teU  everybody  that  she's  the 
one  woman  in  the  whole  wide  world  I  want  to  marry." 

"  Poor  old  Simon,"  said  Dale.     "  Poor  old  chap." 

"  That's  exactly  how  things  stand,"  said  I. 

"  Lord,  who  would  have  thought  it  ?  "  said  Dale. 

"  How  I've  borne  with  you  talking  about  her  all  this 
evening  the  devil  only  knows,"  I  cried.  "  You've 
driven  me  half  crazy." 

"  You  should  have  told  me  to  shut  up." 


302  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  I  did." 

"  Poor  old  Simon.  I'm  so  sorry — but  I  had  no  idea 
you  had  fallen  in  love  with  her." 

"  Fallen  in  love  !  "  said  I,  losing  my  head.  "  She's 
the  only  woman  on  God's  earth  I've  ever  cared  for.  I 
want  her  as  I've  wanted  nothing  in  the  universe  before." 

"  And  you've  come  to  care  for  her  as  much  as  that  ?  " 
he  said  sympathetically,     "  Poor  old  Simon." 

"  Why  the  devil  shouldn't  I  ?  "  I  shouted,  nettled  by 
his  "  poor  old  Simons." 

"  Lola  Brandt  is  hardly  of  your  class,"  said  Dale, 

I  broke  out  furiously.  "  Damn  class  !  I've  had 
enough  of  it.  I'm  going  to  take  my  life  into  my  own 
hands  and  do  what  I  like  with  it.  I'm  going  to  choose 
my  mate  without  any  reference  to  society.  I've  cut 
myself  adrift  from  society.  It  can  go  hang.  Lola 
Brandt  is  a  woman  worth  any  man's  loving.  She  is 
a  woman  in  a  million.  You  know  nothing  whatever 
about  her." 

The  last  words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth  when 
an  echo  from  the  distance  came  and,  as  it  were,  banged 
at  my  ears.  Dale  himself  had  shrieked  them  at  me  in 
exactly  the  same  tone  with  reference  to  the  same  woman. 
I  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  rather 
stupidly.  Then  the  imp  of  humour,  who  for  some  time 
had  deserted  me,  flew  to  my  side  and  tickled  my  brain. 
I  broke  into  a  chuckle,  somewhat  hysterical  I  must 
admit,  and  then,  throwing  myself  into  an  arm-chair, 
gave  way  to  uncontrollable  laughter. 

The  scare  of  the  unexpected  rose  in  Dale's  eyes. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  "  I  cried,  as  far  as  the  paroxysms  of 
my  mirth  would  let  me.  "  Can't  you  see  how  ex- 
quisitely ludicrous  the  whole  thing  has  been  from  be- 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  303 

ginning  to  end  ?  Don't  you  realise  that  you  and  I  are 
playing  the  same  scene  as  we  played  months  ago  in  my 
library,  with  the  only  difference  that  we  have  changed 
roles  ?  I'm  the  raving,  infatuated  youth,  and  you're 
the  grave  and  reverend  mentor.  Don't  you  see  ? 
Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  can't  see  anything  to  laugh  at,"  said  Dale  sturdily. 

And  he  couldn't.  There  are  thousands  of  bright, 
flame-like  human  beings  constituted  like  that.  Life 
spreads  out  before  them  one  of  its  most  side-splitting, 
topsy-turvy  farces  and  they  see  in  it  nothing  to  laugh  at. 

To  Dale  the  affair  had  been  as  serious  and  lacking  in 
the  fantastic  as  the  measles.  He  had  got  over  the 
disease  and  now  was  exceedingly  sorry  to  perceive  that 
I  had  caught  it  in  my  turn. 

"  It  isn't  funny  a  bit,"  he  continued.  "  It's  quite 
natural.  I  see  it  all  now.  You  cut  me  out  from  the 
very  first.  You  didn't  mean  to — you  never  thought  of 
it.  But  what  chance  had  I  against  you  ?  I  was  a 
young  ass  and  you  were  a  brilliant  man  of  the  world.  I 
bear  you  no  grudge.  You  played  the  game  in  that  way. 
Then  things  happened — and  at  last  you've  fallen  in  love 
with  her — and  now  just  at  the  critical  moment  she  has 
gone  off  into  space.  It  must  be  devilish  painful  for 
you,  if  you  ask  me." 

"  Oh,  Dale,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  the  only 
fitting  end  to  the  farce  would  be  if  you  wandered 
over  Europe  to  find  and  bring  her  back  to  me." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  he,  "  because  I'm 
engaged,  and  that,  as  I  said,  gives  me  occupation  ;  but 
if  I  can  do  anything  practicable,  my  dear  old  Simon, 
you've  only  got  to  send  for  me." 

He  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  My  hat !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  It's  past  two  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

I  AM  a  personage  apart  from  humanity.      I  vary  from 
the  kindly  ways  of  man.     A  curse  is  on  me. 

Surely  no  man  has  fought  harder  than  I  have  done  to 
convince  himself  of  the  deadly  seriousness  of  existence  ; 
and  surely  before  the  feet  of  no  man  has  Destiny  cast 
such  stumbling-blocks  to  faith.  I  might  be  an  ancient 
dweller  in  the  Thebaid  struggling  towards  dreams  of 
celestial  habitations,  and  confronted  only  by  grotesque 
visions  of  hell.  No  matter  what  I  do,  I'm  baffled.  I 
look  upon  sorrow  and  say,  "  Lo,  this  is  tragedy  !  "  and 
hey,  presto  !  a  trick  of  lighting  turns  it  into  farce.  I 
cry  aloud,  in  perfervid  zeal,  "  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 
and  the  apotheosis  of  the  fantastic  is  not  its  goal,"  and 
immediately  a  grinning  irony  comes  to  give  the  lie  to 
my  credo. 

Or  is  it  that,  by  inscrutable  decree  of  the  Almighty 
Powers,  I  am  undergoing  punishment  for  an  old  un- 
regenerate  point  of  view,  being  doomed  to  wear  my 
detested  motley  for  all  eternity,  to  stretch  out  my  hand 
for  ever  to  grasp  realities  and  find  I  can  do  naught  but 
beat  the  air  with  my  bladder  ;  to  listen  with  strained  ear 
perpetually  expectant  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  and 
catch  nothing  but  the  mocking  jingle  of  the  bells  on  my 
fool's  cap  ? 

I  don't  know.     I  give  it  up. 

Such  were  my  thoughts  on  the  morning  after  my 
interview  with  Dale,  when  I  had  read  a  long,  long  letter 
from  Lola,  which  she  had  despatched  from  Paris. 

The  letter  lies  before  me  now,  many  pages  in  a  curious, 

304 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  305 

half-formed  foreign  hand.  Many  would  think  it  an  ill- 
written  letter — for  there  are  faults  of  spelling  and  faults 
of  grammar — but  even  now,  as  I  look  on  those  faults, 
the  tears  come  into  my  eyes.  Oh,  how  exquisitely, 
pathetically,  monumentally,  sublimely  foolish  !  She 
had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  it,  poor  dear  ;  it  was 
only  the  Arch-Jester  again,  leading  her  blindly  away,  so 
as  once  more  to  leave  me  high  and  dry  on  the  Hill  of 
Derision. 

"...  My  dear,  you  must  forgive  me  !  My  heart  is 
breaking,  but  I  know  I'm  doing  right.  There  is  nothing 
for  it  but  to  go  out  of  your  life  for  ever.  It  terrifies  me 
to  think  of  it,  but  it's  the  only  way.  I  know  you  think 
you  love  me,  dear  ;  but  you  can't,  you  can't  really  love 
a  woman  so  far  beneath  you,  and  I  would  sooner  never 
see  you  again  than  marry  you  and  wake  up  one  day  and 
find  that  you  hated  and  scorned  me.  ..." 

Can  you  wonder  that  I  shook  my  fist  at  Heaven  and 
danced  with  rage  ? 

"...  Miss  Eleanor  Faversham  called  on  me  just  a 
few  minutes  after  you  left  me  that  afternoon.  We  had 
a  long,  long  talk.  Simon,  dear,  you  must  marry  her. 
You  loved  her  once,  for  you  were  engaged,  and  only 
broke  it  off  because  you  thought  you  were  going  to  die ; 
and  she  loves  you,  Simon,  and  she  is  a  lady  with  all  the 
refinement  and  education  that  I  could  never  have.  She 
is  of  your  class,  dear,  and  understands  you,  and  can  help 
you  on,  whereas  I  could  only  drag  you  down.  I  am  not 
lit  to  black  her  boots.   .  .   ." 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth,  in  the  most  heartrending 
strain  of  insensate  self-sacrifice  and  heroic  self-abase- 
ment. The  vainest  and  most  heartless  dog  of  a  man 
stands  abashed  and  helpless  before  such  things  in  a 
woman. 

u 


3o6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

She  had  not  seen  or  written  to  me  because  she  would 
not  have  her  resolution  weakened.  After  the  great 
wrench,  succeeding  things  were  easier.  She  had  taken 
Anastasius's  cats  and  proposed  to  work  them  in  the 
music-halls  abroad  and  send  the  proceeds  to  be  ad- 
ministered for  the  little  man's  comfort  at  the  maison  de 
sante.  As  both  her  name  and  the  Papadopoulos  troupe 
of  cats  were  well  known  in  the  "variety "  world,  it  would 
be  a  simple  matter  to  obtain  engagements.  She  had 
already  opened  negotiations  for  a  short  season  some- 
where abroad.  I  was  not  to  be  anxious  about  her.  She 
would  have  plenty  of  occupation. 

"  .  .  .  I  am  not  sending  you  any  address,  for  I 
don't  want  you  to  know  where  I  am,  dear.  I  shan't 
write  to  you  again  unless  I  scribble  things  and  tear  them 
up  without  posting.  This  is  final.  When  a  woman 
makes  such  a  break  she  must  do  it  once  and  for  all.  Oh, 
Simon,  when  you  kissed  me  two  days  ago  you  thought 
you  loved  me  ;  but  I  know  what  the  senses  are  and  how 
they  deceive  people,  and  I  had  only  just  caught  your 
senses  on  that  spring  afternoon,  and  I  made  you  do  it, 
for  I  had  been  aching,  aching  for  months  for  a  word  of 
love  from  you,  and  when  it  came  I  was  ashamed.  But  I 
should  have  been  weak  and  shut  my  eyes  to  everything 
if  Miss  Faversham  had  not  come  to  me  like  God's  good 
angel.  .  .  ." 

At  the  fourth  reading  of  the  letter  I  stopped  short  at 
these  words.  God's  good  angel,  indeed  !  Could  any- 
thing have  been  more  calculated  to  put  a  man  into  a 
frenzy  ?  I  seized  my  hat  and  stick  and  went  in  search 
of  the  nearest  public  telephone  office.  In  less  than  ten 
minutes  I  had  arranged  an  immediate  interview  with 
Eleanor  Faversham  at  my  sister  Agatha's,  and  in  less 
than  half  an  hour  I  was  pacing  up  and  down  Agatha's 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  307 

sitting-room  waiting  for  her.  God's  good  angel  !  The 
sound  of  the  words  made  me  choke  with  wrath.  There 
are  times  when  angehc  interference  in  human  destinies 
is  entirely  unwarrantable.  I  stamped  and  I  fumed, 
and  I  composed  a  speech  in  which  I  told  Eleanor  exactly 
what  I  thought  of  angels. 

As  I  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time,  however,  before 
Eleanor  appeared,  the  raging  violence  of  my  wrath 
abated,  and  when  she  did  enter  the  room,  smihng  and 
fresh,  with  the  spring  in  her  clear  eyes  and  a  flush  on  her 
cheek,  I  just  said  :  "  How  d'ye  do,  Eleanor  ?  "  in  the 
most  commonplace  way,  and  offered  her  a  chair. 

"  I've  come,  you  see.  You  were  rather  peremptory, 
so  I  thought  it  must  be  a  matter  of  great  importance." 

"  It  is,"  said  I.     "  You  went  to  see  Madame  Brandt." 

"  I  did,"  she  replied,  looking  at  me  steadily,  "  and  I 
have  tried  to  write  to  you,  but  it  was  more  difficult  than 
I  thought." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  it's  no  use  writing  now,  for  you've 
managed  to  drive  her  out  of  the  country." 

She  half  rose  in  her  chair  and  regarded  me  with  wide 
blue  eyes. 

"  I've  driven  her  out  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  with  her  maid  and  her  belongings  and  Anas- 
tasius  Papadopoulos's  troupe  of  performing  cats,  and 
Anastasius  Papadopoulos's  late  pupil  and  assistant, 
Quast.  She  has  given  up  her  comfortable  home  in 
London  and  now  proposes  to  be  a  wanderer  among  the 
music-halls  of  Europe." 

"  But  that's  not  my  fault  !  "  cried  Eleanor.  "  Indeed 
it  isn't." 

"  She  says  in  a  letter  I  received  this  morning  bearing 
no  address,  that  if  you  nadn't  come  to  her  like  God's 
good  angel,  she  would  have  remained  in  London." 


3o8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Eleanor  looked  bewildered.  "  I  thought  I  had  made 
it  perfectly  clear  to  her." 

"  Made  what  clear  ?  " 

She  blushed  a  furious  red.  "  Can't  you  guess  ?  You 
must  be  as  stupid  as  she  is.  And,  of  course,  you're 
wildly  angry  with  me.     Aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  wish  you  hadn't  gone  to  see  her,"  said  I. 

"  Was  it  merely  to  tell  me  this  that  you  ordered  me  to 
come  here  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  touch  of  anger  in  her 
voice,  for  however  much  like  God's  good  angels  young 
women  maybe,  they  generally  have  a  spirit  of  their  own. 

I  felt  I  had  been  wanting  in  tact  ;  also  that  I  had  put 
myself — through  an  impetuosity  foreign  to  what  I  had 
thought  to  be  my  character — in  a  foolish  position.  If  I 
replied  affirmatively  to  her  question,  she  would  have 
treated  me  perfectly  rightly  in  tossing  her  head  in  the 
air  and  marching  indignantly  out  of  the  room.  I  tem- 
porised. 

"  In  order  to  understand  the  extraordinary  conse- 
quences of  your  interview,  I  should  like  to  have  some 
idea  of  what  took  place.  I  know,  my  dear  Eleanor,"  I 
continued  as  gently  as  I  could,  "  I  know  that  you  went 
to  see  her  out  of  the  very  great  kindness  of  your 
heart " 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Eleanor. 

I  made  a  little  gesture  in  lieu  of  reply.  There  was  a 
span  of  silence.  Eleanor  played  with  the  silky  ears  of 
Agatha's  little  Yorkshire  terrier  which  had  somehow 
strayed  into  the  room  and  taken  possession  of  her  lap. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Simon,"  she  said  at  last,  half  tear- 
fully, without  taking  her  eyes  off  the  dog,  "  don't  you 
see  that  by  accusing  me  in  this  way  you  make  it  almost 
impossible  for  me  to  speak  }  And  I  was  going  to  be  so 
loyal  to  you." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  309 

A  tear  fell  down  her  cheek  on  to  the  dog's  back,  and 
convicted  me  of  unmitigated  brutality. 

"  What  else  could  you  be  but  loyal  ?  "  I  murmured. 
"  Your  attitude  all  through  has  shown  it." 

She  flashed  her  hand  angrily  over  her  eyes,  and  looked 
at  me.  "  And  I  wanted  to  be  loyal  to  the  end.  If  you 
had  waited  and  she  had  waited,  you  would  have  seen. 
As  soon  as  I  could  have  conveyed  it  to  you  decently,  I 

should  have  shown  you Ah  !  "     She  broke  off, 

put  the  Yorkshire  terrier  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  and 
rose  with  an  impatient  gesture.  "  You  want  to  know 
why  T  called  on  Lola  Brandt  ?  I  felt  I  had  to  know  for 
myself  what  kind  of  woman  she  was.  She  was  the 
woman  between  us — you  and  me.  You  don't  suppose 
I  ceased  to  care  for  you  just  because  what  we  thought 
was  a  fatal  illness  broke  off  our  engagement  !  I  did 
care  for  you.  I  cared  for  you — in  a  way  ;  I  say  '  in  a 
way  ' — I'll  tell  you  why  later  on.  When  we  met  here 
the  last  time  do  you  think  I  was  not  moved  ?  I  knew 
your  altered  position  would  not  allow  you  to  suggest  a 
renewal  of  the  engagement  so  I  offered  \'ou  the  oppor- 
tunity. Do  you  remember  ?  But  I  could  not  tell 
whether  you  still  cared  for  me  or  whether  you  cared  for 
the  other  woman.  So  I  had  to  go  and  see  her.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  that  you  might  feel  in  honour 
bound  to  take  me  at  my  word  and  be  caring  all  the  time 
for  some  one  else.  I  went  to  see  her,  and  then  I  realised 
that  I  didn't  count.  Don't  ask  why.  Women  know 
these  things.  And  I  found  that  she  loved  you  with  a 
warmth  and  richness  I'm  incapable  of.  I  felt  I  had 
stepped  into  something  big  and  splendid,  as  if  I  had  been 
a  caterpillar  walking  into  the  heart  of  a  red  rose.  I  felt 
prim  and  small  and  petty.  Until  then  I  had  never 
known  what  love  meant,  and  I  didn't  feel  it  ;  I  couldn't 


3IO  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

feel  it.  I  couldn't  give  you  a  millionth  part  of  what 
that  woman  does.  And  I  knew  that  having  lived  in 
that  atmosphere,  you  couldn't  possibly  be  content  with 
me.  If  you  had  waited,  I  should  have  found  some 
means  of  telling  you  so.  That's  what  I  meant  by  saying 
I  was  loyal  to  you.  And  I  thought  I  had  made  it  clear 
to  her.     It  seems  I  didn't.     It  isn't  my  fault." 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  when  she  had  come  to  the  end  of 
this  astonishing  avowal,  and  stood  looking  at  me  some- 
what defiantly  and  twisting  her  lingers  nervously  in  front 
of  her,  "  I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  to  say  to  you." 

"  You  can  tell  me,  at  least,  that  my  instinct  was 
right." 

"  Which  one  ?     A  woman  has  so  many." 

"  That  you  love  Lola  Brandt." 

I  lifted  my  arms  in  a  helpless  gesture  and  let  them 
drop  to  my  sides. 

"  One  is  not  one's  own  master  in  these  things." 

"  Then  you  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I  in  a  low  voice. 

Eleanor  drew  a  long  breath,  turned  and  sat  down 
again  on  the  sofa. 

"  And  she  knows  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  her  so." 

"  Then  why  in  the  world  has  she  run  away  ?  " 

"  Because  you  two  wonderful  and  divinely  foolish 
people  have  been  too  big  for  each  other.  While  you 
were  impressed  by  one  quality  in  her  she  was  equally 
impressed  by  another  in  you.  She  departed,  burning 
her  ships,  so  as  to  go  entirely  out  of  my  life  for  the  simple 
reason,  as  she  herself  expresses  it,  that  she  was  not  fit  to 
black  your  boots.  So,"  said  I,  taking  her  left  hand  in 
mine  and  patting  it  gently,  "  between  you  two  dear, 
divine  angel  fools,  I  fall  to  the  ground." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  311 

A  while  later,  just  before  we  parted,  she  said  in  her 
frank  way  : 

"  I  know  many  people  would  say  I've  behaved  with 
shocking  impropriety — immodestly  and  all  that.  You 
don't,  do  you  ?  I  believe  half  the  unhappiness  in  life 
comes  from  people  being  afraid  to  go  straight  at  things. 
Perhaps  I've  gone  too  straight  this  time — but  you'll 
forgive  me  ?  " 

I  smiled  and  squeezed  her  hand.  "  My  dear,"  said  I, 
"  Lola  Brandt  was  right.     You  are  God's  good  angel." 

I  went  away  in  a  chastened  mood,  no  longer  wrathful, 
for  what  could  woman  do  more  for  mortal  man  than 
what  Eleanor  Faversham  had  attempted  ?  She  had 
gone  to  see  whether  she  should  stand  against  her  rival, 
and  with  a  superb  generosity,  unprecedented  in  her  sex, 
she  had  withdrawn.  The  magnanimity  of  it  over- 
whelmed me.  I  walked  along  the  street  exalting  her  to 
viewless  pinnacles  of  high-heartedness.  And  then, 
suddenly,  the  Devil  whispered  in  my  ear  that  execrated 
word  "  eumoiriety."  It  poisoned  the  rest  of  the  day. 
It  confirmed  my  conviction  of  the  ironical  designs  of 
Destiny.  Destiny,  not  content  with  making  me  a  vic- 
tim of  the  accursed  principle  in  my  own  person,  had 
used  these  two  dear  women  as  its  instruments  in  dealing 
me  fresh  humiliation.  Where  would  it  end  ?  Where 
could  I  turn  to  escape  such  an  enemy  ?  If  I  had  been 
alone  in  green  fields  instead  of  Sloane  Square,  I  should 
have  clapped  my  hands  to  my  head  and  prayed  God  not 
to  drive  me  crazy.  I  should  have  cried  wild  vows  to  the 
winds  and  shaken  my  fist  at  the  sky  and  rolled  upon 
the  grass  and  made  a  genteel  idiot  of  myself.  Nature 
would  have  understood.  Men  do  these  things  in  time  of 
stress,  and  I  was  in  great  stress.  I  loved  a  woman  for 
the  first  time  in  my  hfe — and  I  was  a  man  nearly  forty. 


312  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

I  wanted  her  with  every  quivering  nerve  in  me.  And 
she  was  gone.  Lost  in  the  vast  expanse  of  Europe 
with  a  parcel  of  performing  cats.  Gone  out  of  my  hfe, 
loving  me  as  I  loved  her,  all  on  account  of  this  Hell- 
invented  principle.  Ye  gods  !  If  the  fierce,  pure,  deep, 
abiding  love  of  a  man  for  a  woman  is  not  a  reality,  what 
in  this  world  of  shadows  is  anything  but  vapour  ?  I 
grasped  it  tight,  hugged  it  to  my  bosom — and  now  she 
was  gone,  and  in  my  ears  rang  the  derisive  laughter  of 
the  enemy. 

Where  would  it  end  ?  What  would  happen  next  ? 
Nothing  was  too  outrageously,  maniacally  impossible. 
I  walked  up  Sloane  Street,  a  street  which  for  impec- 
cable respectability,  security  of  life  and  person,  comfort- 
able, modem,  twentieth-century,  prosperous  smugness 
has  no  superior  in  all  the  smug  cities  of  the  earth,  and 
I  was  prepared  to  encounter  with  a  smile  of  recognition 
anything  that  the  whirhng  brains  of  Bedlam  had  ever 
conceived.  Why  should  not  this  little  lady  tripping 
along  with  gold  chain-bag  and  anxious,  shopping  knit  of 
the  brow,  throw  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  salute  me 
as  her  long-lost  brother  ?  Why  should  not  the  patient 
horses  in  that  omnibus  suddenly  turn  into  grifhns  and 
begin  to  snort  fire  from  their  nostrils  ?  Why  should  not 
that  pohceman,  who,  on  his  beat,  was  approaching  me 
with  heavy,  measured  tread,  suddenly  arrest  me  for 
complicity  in  the  Pazzi  Conspiracy  or  the  Rye  House 
Plot  ?  Why  should  not  the  whole  of  the  decorous 
street  suddenly  change  into  the  inconsequence  of  an 
Empire  ballet  ?  Why  should  not  the  heavens  fall 
down  and  universal  chaos  envelop  all  ? 

The  only  possible  reason  I  can  think  of  now  is  that 
the  Almighty  Powers  did  not  consider  it  worth  while  to 
go  to  quite  so  much  trouble  on  my  account. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  313 

This,  however,  gives  you  some  idea  of  my  state  of 
mind.  But  though  it  lasted  for  a  considerable  time,  I 
would  not  have  you  believe  that  I  fostered  it  unduly. 
Indeed,  I  repudiated  it  with  some  disgust.  I  took  it 
out,  examined  it,  and  finding  it  preposterous,  set  to 
work  to  modify  it  into  harmony  with  the  circumstances 
of  my  everyday  life.  Even  the  most  sorely  tried  of 
men  cannot  walk  abroad  shedding  his  exasperation 
around  like  a  pestilence.  If  he  does,  he  is  put  into  a 
lunatic  asylum. 

If  a  man  cannot  immediately  assuage  the  hunger  of 
his  heart,  he  must  meet  starvation  with  a  smiling  face. 
In  the  meantime,  he  has  to  eat  so  as  to  satisfy  the  hunger 
of  his  body,  to  clothe  himself  with  a  certain  discrimina- 
tion, to  attend  to  polite  commerce  with  his  fellow-man 
and  to  put  to  some  fair  use  the  hours  of  his  day.  I  did 
not  doubt  that  by  means  of  intelligent  inquiry  which  I 
determined  to  pursue  in  every  possible  direction  I 
should  sooner  or  later  obtain  news  of  Lola.  A  lady 
with  a  troupe  of  performing  cats  could  not  for  long 
remain  in  obscurity.  True,  I  might  have  gone  in  gallant 
quest  of  her  ;  but  I  had  had  enough  of  such  fool  adven- 
tures. I  bided  my  time,  consulted  with  Dale,  who  took 
up  the  work  of  a  private  detective  agency  with  his  usual 
zeal,  writing  letters  to  every  crony  who  languished  in 
the  exile  of  foreign  embassies,  and  corresponding  (un- 
known to  Lady  Kynnersley)  with  the  agencies  of  the 
International  Aid  Society,  did  what  I  could  on  my  own 
account,  and  turned  my  attention  seriously  to  the  re- 
generation of  the  Judds. 

As  the  affairs  of  one  drunken  tailor's  family  could  not 
afford  me  complete  occupation  for  my  leisure  hours,  I 
began  to  find  myself  insensibly  drawn  by  Campion's 
unreflecting  enthusiasm  into  all  kinds  of  small  duties 


314  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

connected  with  Barbara's  Building.  Before  I  could 
realise  that  I  had  consented,  I  discovered  myself  in 
charge  of  an  evening  class  of  villainous-looking  and  un- 
cleanly youths  who  assembled  in  one  of  the  lecture- 
rooms  to  listen  to  my  recollections  of  the  history  of 
England.  I  was  to  continue  the  course  begun  by  a 
young  Oxford  man,  who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  had 
migrated  from  Barbara's  Building  to  Toynbee  Hall. 

"  I've  never  done  any  schoolmastering  in  my  life. 
Suppose,"  said  I,  with  vivid  recollections  of  my  school- 
days, "  suppose  they  rag  me  ?  " 

"  They  won't,"  said  Campion,  who  had  come  to  intro- 
duce me  to  the  class. 

And  they  did  not.  I  found  these  five-and-twenty 
youthful  members  of  the  proletariat  the  most  attentive, 
respectable,  and  intelligent  audience  that  ever  listened 
to  a  lecture.  Gradually  I  came  to  perceive  that  they 
were  not  as  villainous-looking  and  uncleanly  as  at  first 
sight  I  had  imagined.  A  great  many  of  them  took 
notes.  When  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  dissertation 
on  Henry  VIII.,  I  went  among  them,  as  I  discovered  the 
custom  to  be,  and  chatted,  answering  questions,  explain- 
ing difficulties,  and  advising  as  to  a  course  of  reading. 
The  atmosphere  of  trust  and  friendliness  compensated 
for  the  lack  of  material  sweetness.  Here  were  young 
men  pathetically  eager  to  learn,  grateful  for  every 
crumb  of  information  that  came  from  my  lips.  They 
reminded  me  of  nothing  more  than  the  ragged  class  of 
scholars  around  a  teacher  in  a  mediaeval  university. 
Some  had  vague  dreams  of  eventually  presenting  them- 
selves for  examinations,  the  Science  and  Art  Depart- 
ment, the  College  of  Preceptors,  the  Matriculation 
of  the  University  of  London.  Others  longed  for  educa- 
tion for  its  own  sake,  or  rather  as  a  means  of  raising 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  315 

themselves  in  the  social  scale.  Others,  bitten  by  the 
crude  Socialism  of  their  class,  had  been  persuaded  to 
learn  something  of  past  movements  of  mankind  so  as  to 
obtain  some  basis  for  their  opinions.  All  were  in  deadly 
earnest.  The  magnetic  attraction  between  teacher 
and  taught  estabhshed  itself.  After  one  or  two  lectures, 
I  looked  forward  to  the  next  with  excited  interest. 

Other  things  Campion  off-handedly  put  into  my 
charge.  I  went  on  tours  of  inspection  round  the  houses 
of  his  competing  housewives.  I  acted  as  his  deputy  at 
the  police  court  when  ladies  and  gentlemen  with  a  good 
record  at  Barbara's  got  into  trouble  with  the  constabu- 
lary. I  investigated  cases  for  the  charity  of  the  institu- 
tion. In  quite  a  short  time  I  realised  with  a  gasp  that 
I  had  become  part  of  the  machineiy  of  Barbara's  Build- 
ing, and  was  remorselessly  and  helplessly  whirled  hither 
and  thither  with  the  rest  by  the  force  of  the  driving 
wheel  which  was  Rex  Campion. 

The  amazing,  the  astounding,  the  utterly  incredible 
thing  about  the  whole  matter  was  that  I  not  only  liked 
it,  but  plunged  into  it  heart  and  soul  as  I  had  never 
plunged  into  work  before.  I  discovered  s^Tnpathies 
that  had  hitherto  lain  undreamed  of  within  me.  In  my 
electioneering  days  I  had,  it  is  true,  foregathered  with 
the  sons  of  toil.  I  had  shaken  the  homy  hands  of  men 
and  the  soapsuddy  hands  of  women.  I  had  flattered 
them  and  cajoled  them  and  sho\vn  myself  mighty 
affable,  as  a  sensible  and  aspiring  Parliamentary  can- 
didate should  do  ;  but  the  way  to  their  hearts  I  had 
never  found,  I  had  never  dreamed  of  seeking.  And  now 
it  seemed  as  if  the  great  gift  had  been  bestowed  on  me 
— and  I  examined  it  with  a  new  and  almost  tremulous 
delight. 

Also,  for  the  first  time  in  all  my  life,  I  had  taken  pain 


3i6  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

to  be  the  companion  of  my  soul.  All  my  efforts  to  find 
Lola  were  fruitless.  I  became  acquainted  with  the  heart- 
ache, the  longing  for  the  unattainable,  and  agony  of 
spirit.  The  only  anodyne  was  a  forgetfulness  of  self,  the 
only  compensation  a  glimmer  of  a  hope  and  the  shadow 
of  a  smile  in  the  grey  and  leaden  lives  around  me. 

On  Whit  Monday  evening  I  was  walking  along  the 
Thames  Embankment  on  my  way  home  from  Waterloo 
Station,  wet  through,  tired  out,  disappointed,  and  look- 
ing forward  to  the  dry,  soft  raiment,  the  warm,  cosy 
room,  the  excellent  dinner  that  awaited  me  in  my  flat. 
I — with  several  others — had  been  helping  Campion 
with  his  annual  outing  of  factory  girls  and  young  hooli- 
gans. The  weather,  which  had  been  perfect  on  Satur- 
day, Sunday,  and  when  we  had  started,  a  gay  and 
astonishing  army,  at  seven  o'clock,  had  broken  before 
ten.  It  had  rained,  dully,  miserably,  insistently  all 
day  long.  The  happy  day  in  the  New  Eorest  had  been 
a  damp  and  dismal  fiasco.  I  was  returning  home, 
thinking  I  might  walk  off  an  incipient  chill,  as  depressed 
as  no  one  but  the  baffled  philanthropist  can  be,  when  I 
perceived  a  tattered  and  dejected  man  sitting  on  a 
bench,  a  clothes-basket  between  his  feet,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  sobbing  as  if  his 
heart  would  break.  As  the  spectacle  of  a  grown-up 
man  crying  bitterly  in  a  public  thoroughfare  was  some- 
what remarkable,  I  paused,  and  then  in  order  to  see 
whether  his  distress  was  genuine,  and  also  not  to  arouse 
his  suspicions,  I  threw  myself  in  an  exhausted  manner 
on  the  bench  beside  him.  He  continued  to  sob.  At 
last  I  said,  raising  my  voice  : 

"  You  seem  to  be  pretty  miserable.    What's  wrong  ?  " 
He  turned  bleared,  yet  honest-looking  eyes  upon  me. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  317 

"  The  whole  blasted  show  !  "  said  he.  "  There's 
nothing  right  in  it,  s'welp  me  Gawd." 

I  gave  a  modihed  assent  to  the  proposition  and  drew 
my  coat-collar  over  my  eyes.  "  Being  wet  through 
doesn't  make  it  any  better,"  said  I. 

"  Who  would  ha'  thought  it  would  come  down  as  it 
has  to-day  ?  Tell  me  that.  It's  enough  to  make  a 
man  cut  his  throat ! " 

I  was  somewhat  surprised.  "  You're  not  in  such  a 
great  distress  just  because  it  has  been  a  rainy  day  !  " 

"  Ain't  I  just  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  been  and  gone 
and  ruined  me,  this  day  has.  Look  'ere,  guv'nor,  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it.  I've  been  out  of  work,  see  ?  I 
was  in  'orspital  for  three  months  and  I  couldn't  get 
nothing  regular  to  do  when  I  come  out.  I'm  a  packer 
by  trade.  I  did  odd  jobs,  see  ?  and  the  wife  she  earned  a 
little,  too,  and  we  managed  to  keep  things  going  and 
to  scrape  together  five  shillings,  that's  three  months' 
savings,  against  Whitsun  Bank  Holiday.  And  as  the 
weather  was  so  fine,  I  laid  it  all  out  in  paper  windmills 
to  sell  to  the  kids  on  'Amstead  'Eath.  And  I  started 
out  this  morning  with  the  basket  full  of  them  all  so  fine 
and  pretty,  and  no  sooner  do  I  get  on  the  'Eath  than  the 
rain  comes  down  and  wipes  out  the  whole  blooming  lot, 
before  I  could  sell  one.     Look  'ere  !  " 

He  drew  a  bedraggled  sheet  of  newspaper  from  the 
clothes-basket  and  displayed  a  piteous  sodden  welter  of 
sticks  and  gaudy  pulp.  At  the  sight  of  it  he  broke  down 
again  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"  And  there's  not  a  bite  in  the  'ouse,  nor  not  likely  to 
be  for  days  ;  and  I  daren't  go  home  and  face  the  missus 
and  the  kids — and  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

I  had  already  seen  many  pitiful  tragedies  during  my 
brief  experience  with  Campion  ;  but  the  peculiar  pitiful- 


3i8  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

ness  of  this  one  wrung  my  heart.  It  taught  me  as 
nothing  had  done  before  how  desperately  humble  are 
the  aspirations  of  the  poor.  I  thought  of  the  cosy  com- 
fort that  awaited  me  in  my  own  home  ;  the  despair  that 
awaited  him  in  his. 

I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  good  chap,"  said  I. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  consciousness  of 
applauded  virtue  offered  no  consolation.  I  drew  out  a 
couple  of  half-crowns  and  threw  them  into  the  basket. 

"  For  the  missus  and  the  kids,"  said  I. 

He  picked  them  out  of  the  welter,  and  holding  them 
in  his  hand,  looked  at  me  stupidly. 

"  Can  you  afford  it,  guv'nor  ?  " 

At  first  I  thought  this  remark  was  some  kind  of  iU- 
conditioned  sarcasm  ;  but  suddenly  I  realised  that 
dripping  wet  and  covered  with  mud  from  head  to  foot, 
with  a  shapeless,  old,  green  Homburg  hat  drooping  for- 
lornly about  my  ears,  I  did  not  fulfil  his  conception  of 
the  benevolent  millionaire.  I  laughed,  and  rose  from 
the  bench. 

"  Yes.     Quite  well.     Better  luck  next  time." 

I  nodded  a  good-bye,  and  walked  away.  After  a 
minute,  he  came  running  after  me. 

"  'Ere,"  said  he,  "  I  ain't  thanked  yer.  Gawd  knows 
how  I'm  going  to  do  it.  I  carn't !  But,  'ere — would 
you  mind  if  I  chucked  a  lot  of  the  stuff  into  the  river 
and  told  the  missus  I  had  sold  it,  and  just  got  back  my 
money  ?  She's  proud,  she  is,  and  has  never  accepted  a 
penny  in  charity  in  her  life.  It's  only  because  it  would 
be  better  for  'er." 

He  looked  at  me  with  such  earnest  appeal  that  I  saw 
that  the  saving  of  the  wife's  pride  was  a  serious  matter. 

"  Of  course,"  said  I,  "  and  here's  a  few  ha'pence  to 
add  to  it,  so  as  to  give  colour  to  the  story." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  319 

He  saw  that  I  understood.  "  Thank  you  kindly,  sir," 
said  he. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  I,  "  do  you  love  your  wife  ?  " 

He  gaped  at  me  for  a  moment ;  obviously  the  ques- 
tion had  never  been  put  to  him  either  by  himself  or  any- 
body else.  Then  seeing  that  my  interest  was  genuine, 
he  spat  and  scratched  his  head. 

"  We've  been  together  twenty  years,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  emotion  struggling  with  self-consciousness, 
"  and  I've  had  nothing  agin  her  all  that  time.  She's  a 
bloomin'  wonder,  I  tell  you  straight." 

I  held  out  my  hand.  "  At  any  rate,  you've  got  what 
I  haven't,"  said  I.  "A  woman  who  loves  you  to  wel- 
come you  home." 

And  I  went  away  longing,  longing  for  Lola's  arms  and 
the  deep  love  in  her  voice. 

Now  that  I  come  to  view  my  actions  in  some  sort  of 
perspective,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  was  the  underlying 
poignancy  of  this  trumpery  incident — a  poignancy 
which,  nevertheless,  bit  deep  into  my  soul,  that  finally 
determined  the  current  of  my  life. 

A  short  while  afterwards.  Campion,  who  for  some 
time  past  had  found  that  the  organisation  of  Barbara's 
Building  had  far  outgrown  his  individual  power  of  con- 
trol, came  to  me  with  a  proposal  that  I  should  under- 
take the  management  of  the  institution  under  his 
general  directorship.  As  he  knew  of  my  financial 
affairs  and  of  my  praiseworthy  but  futile  efforts  to  live 
on  two  hundred  a  year,  he  offered  me  another  two  hun- 
dred by  way  of  salary  and  quarters  in  the  Building.  I 
accepted,  moved  the  salvage  of  my  belongings  from 
Victoria  Street  to  Lambeth,  and  settled  down  to  the 
work  for  which  a  mirth-loving  Providence  had  destined 
me  from  my  cradle. 

When  I  told  Agatha,  she  nearly  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

No  sooner  had  I  moved  into  Barbara's  Building  and 
was  preparing  to  begin  my  salaried  duties,  than  I  re- 
ceived news  which  sent  me  off  post  haste  to  Berlin. 
And  just  as  it  was  not  I  but  Anastasius  Papadopoulos 
who  discovered  Captain  Vauvenarde,  so,  in  this  case,  it 
was  Dale  who  discovered  Lola. 

He  burst  in  upon  me  one  day,  flourishing  a  large 
visiting-card,  which  he  flung  down  on  the  table  before 
my  eyes. 

"  Do  you  recognise  that  ?  " 

It  was  the  familiar  professional  card  of  the  unhappy 
Anastasius. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  see  the  last  line  ?  " 

I  read  "  London  Agents  :  Messrs.  Conto  and  Blag, 
172  Maiden  Lane,  W.C."  I  looked  up.  "  Well  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"It  has  done  the  trick,"  said  he  triumphantly. 
"  What  fools  we  were  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before. 
I  was  rooting  out  a  drawer  of  papers  and  came  across 
the  card.  You  remember  he  handed  us  one  all  round 
the  first  day  we  met  him.  I  put  it  away — I'm  rather  a 
methodical  devil  with  papers,  as  you  know.  When  I 
found  it,  I  danced  a  hornpipe  all  round  the  room  and 
went  straight  off  to  Conto  and  Blag.  I  made  certain 
she  would  work  through  them,  as  they  were  accustomed 
to  shop  the  cats,  and  I  found  I  was  right.  They  know 
all  about  her.  Wouldn't  give  her  address,  but  told  me 
that  she  was  appearing  this  week  as  ever  is  at  the  Winter 

320 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  321 

Garten  at  Berlin.  Why  that  pudding-headed  quagga, 
Bevan,  at  the  Embassy,  hasn't  kept  his  eyes  open  for 
me,  as  he  promised,"  he  went  on  a  while  later,  "  I  don't 
know !  I  can  understand  Eugen  Pattcnhausen,  the 
owl-eyed  coot  who  runs  the  International  Aid  Society, 
not  doing  a  hand's  turn  to  aid  anybody — but  Bevan  ! 
For  Heaven's  sake,  while  you're  there  call  at  the  Em- 
bassy and  kick  him." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  boy,"  said  I,  with  a  laugh,  for 
his  news  had  made  me  light-hearted,  "  you  forget  that 
I  have  entered  upon  a  life  of  self-denial,  and  one  of  the 
luxuries  I  must  deny  myself  is  that  of  kicking  attaches." 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  go  with  you  and  do  it  myself. 
But  it'll  keep.  Do  you  know,  it's  rather  quaint,  isn't 
it  ?  "  he  said,  after  a  pause,  as  if  struck  by  a  luminous 
idea — "  it's  rather  quaint  that  it  should  be  I  who  am 
playing  the  little  tin  god  on  wheels  for  you  two,  and  say- 
ing '  Bless  you,  my  children.'  " 

"  I  thought  the  humour  of  the  situation  couldn't  fail 
to  strike  you  at  last." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  knitting  his  brows  into  an  air  of  dark 
reflection,  "  it  is  funny.     Devilish  funny  !  " 

I  dismissed  him  with  grateful  words,  and  in  a  flutter 
of  excitement  went  in  search  of  Campion,  whom  I  was 
lucky  to  find  in  the  building. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  ask  for  leave  of  absence,"   said  I 
"  before  I've  actually  taken  up  my  appointment ;   but 
I  must  do  so.     I  am  summoned  at  once  to  Berlin  on 
important  business." 

Campion  gave  willing  consent.  "  How  long  will  you 
be  away  ?  " 

"  That  depends,"  said  I,  with  a  smile  which  I  meant 
to  be  enigmatic,  but  assuredly  must  have  been  fatuous, 
"  upon  my  powers  of  persuasion." 

X 


322  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

^_  '•I  had  bright  thoughts  of  gomg  to  Beiiin  and  back  in 
a  meteoric  flash,  bringing  Lola  with  me  on  my  return 
journey,  to  marry  her  out  of  hand  as  soon  as  we  reached 
London.  Cats  and  Winter  Gardens  concerned  me  but 
httle,  and  of  trifles  Uke  contracts  I  took  no  account. 

"If  you're  there  any  time,"  said  Campion,  tugging 
thoughtfully  at  his  black  beard,  "  you  might  look  into 
what  the  Germans  are  doing  with  regard  to  Female 
Rescue  Work.  You  might  pick  up  a  practical  tip  or 
two  for  use  down  here." 

What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  man  of  one  idea  !  I  gave 
him  an  evasive  answer  and  rushed  away  to  make  the 
necessary  preparations  for  my  journey.  I  was  absurdly, 
boyishly  happy.  No  doubt  as  to  my  success  crossed 
my  mind.  It  was  to  be  my  final  and  triumphant  ad- 
venture. Unless  the  High  Powers  stove  a  hole  in  the 
steamer  or  sent  another  railway  train  to  collide  with 
mine,  the  non- attainment  of  my  object  seemed  impos- 
sible.    I  had  but  to  go,  to  be  seen,  to  conquer. 

I  arrived  safely  in  Berlin  at  half-past  seven  in  the 
evening,  and  drove  to  a  modest  hotel  in  the  Kaiser- 
strasse,  where  I  had  engaged  a  room.  My  first  inquiry 
was  for  a  letter  from  Lola.  To  my  disappointment 
nothing  awaited  me.  I  had  telegraphed  to  her  at  the 
Winter  Garten  the  day  before,  and  I  had  written  as  well. 
A  horrible  surmise  began  to  dance  before  me.  Suppose 
Messrs.  Conto  and  Blag  had  given  Dale  erroneous  in- 
formation !  I  grew  sick  and  faint  at  the  thought. 
What  laughter  there  would  be  in  Olympus  over  my  fool 
journey  !  In  great  agitation  I  clamoured  for  a  pro- 
gramme of  the  Winter  Garten  entertainment.  The 
hotel  clerk  put  it  into  my  trembling  hands.  There 
was  no  mention  of  Madame  Lola  Brandt,  but  to  my 
unspeakable  comfort  I  saw  the  announcement : 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  323 

"  Professorin  Anastasuis  Papadopotdos  tmd  ihrc  wun- 
derbarcn  Katzen." 

Lola  was  working  the  cats  under  the  little  man's 
name.     That  was  why  she  had  baffled  the  inquiries  in- 
stituted by  Dale  and  myself  and  had  not  received  my 
telegram.     I  scribbled  a  hasty  note  in  which  I  told  her 
of  my  arrival,  my  love,  and  my  impatience  ;    that  I 
proposed  to  witness  the  performance  that  evening,  and 
to  meet  her  immediately  afterwards  at  the  stage  door. 
This,  addressed  to  the  Professorin  Anastasius  Papado- 
poulos,  I  despatched  by  special  messenger  to  the  Winter 
Garten.     After  a  hasty  toilet  and  a  more  hurried  meal, 
I  went  out,  and,  tocr  impatient  to  walk,  I  hailed  a 
droshky,  and  drove  through  the  wide,  cheery  streets  of 
Berlin.     It  was  a  balmy  June  evening.     The  pave- 
ments were  thronged.     Through  the  vast  open  fronts 
of  the  cafes  one  saw  agglutinated  masses  of  people  just 
cleft  here  and  there  by  white- jacketed  waiters  darting 
to  and  fro  with  high-poised  trays  of  beer  and  coffee. 
Save  these  and  the  folk  in  theatres  all  Berlin  was  in  the 
streets,  taking  the  air.     A  sense  of  gaiety  pervaded  the 
place,  organised  and  recognised,  as  though  it  were  as 
much  part  of  a  Berliner's  duty  to  himself,  the  Father- 
land, and  the  Aknighty  to  be  gay  when  the  labours  of 
the  day  are  over  as  to  be  serious  during  business  hours. 
He  goes  through  it  with  a  grave  face  and  enjoys  himself 
prodigiously.     Your  Latin  when  he  fills  the  street  with 
jest  and  laughter  obeys  the  ebullience  of  his  tempera- 
ment ;  your  Teuton  always  seems  to  be  conscientiously 
obeying  a  book  of  regulations. 

I  soon  arrived  at  the  Winter  Garten  and  secured  a 
stall  near  the  stage.  The  vast  building  was  packed  with 
a  smoking  and  perspiring  multitude.  In  shape  it  was 
like  a  long  tunnel  or  a  long,  narrow  railway  station,  an 


324  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

impression  intensified  by  a  monotonous  barrel  roof. 
This  was,  however,  painted|blue  and  decorated  with 
myriads  of  golden  stars.  Along  one  side  ran  a  gallery 
where  those  who  liked  to  watch  the  performance  and 
eat  a  six-course  dinner  at  the  same  time  could  do  so  in 
elaborate  discomfort.  In  the  centre  of  the  opposite  side 
was  the  stage,  and  below  it,  grouped  in  a  semicircle,  the 
orchestra.  Beneath  the  starry  roof  hung  long  wisps  of 
smoky  clouds. 

The  performance  had  only  just  begun  and  Lola's  turn 
was  seventh  on  the  list.  I  reflected  that  greater  delibe- 
ration in  my  movements  would  have  better  suited  the 
maturity  of  my  years,  besides  enabling  me  to  eat  a 
more  digestible  dinner.  I  had  come  with  the  unreason- 
ing impatience  of  a  boy,  fully  conscious  that  I  was  too 
early,  yet  desperately  anxious  not  to  be  too  late.  I 
laughed  at  myself  indulgently  and  patted  the  boy  in 
me  on  the  head.  Meanwhile,  I  gave  myself  up  with 
mild  interest  to  the  entertainment  provided.  It  was 
the  same  as  that  at  any  music-hall,  winter  garden,  or 
variety  theatre  the  world  over.  The  same  brawny 
gentlemen  in  tights  made  human  pyramids  out  of  them- 
selves and  played  football  with  the  little  boys  and 
minced  with  their  aggravating  step  down  to  the  foot- 
lights ;  the  same  red-nosed  clown  tried  to  emulate  his 
dashing  companion  on  the  horizontal  bars,  pulling  him- 
self up,  to  the  eternal  delight  of  the  audience,  by  the 
seat  of  his  baggy  breeches,  and  hanging  his  hat  on  the 
smooth  steel  upright ;  the  same  massive  lady  with  the 
deep  chest  sang  sentimental  ballads  ;  the  same  China- 
man produced  warrens  of  rabbits  and  flocks  of  pigeons 
from  impossible  receptacles ;  the  same  half-dozen 
scantily  clad  damsels  sang  the  same  inane  chorus  in  the 
same  fiat  baby  voices  and  danced  the  same  old  dance. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  325 

Mankind  in  the  bulk  is  very  young  ;    it  is  very  easily 
amused  and,  like  a  child,  clamours  for  the  oft-repeated  tale. 

The  curtain  went  down  on  the  last  turn  before  Lola's. 
I  felt  a  curious  suspense,  and  half  wished  that  I  had  not 
come  to  see  the  performance.  I  shrank  from  finding  her 
a  million  miles  away  from  me,  a  new,  remote  creature, 
impersonal  as  those  who  had  already  appeared  on  the 
stage.  Mingled  with  this  was  a  fear  lest  she  might  not 
please  this  vast  audience.  Failure,  I  felt,  would  be  as 
humiliating  to  me  as  to  her.  Agatha,  I  remembered, 
confessed  to  the  same  feeling  with  regard  to  myself 
when  I  made  my  first  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
But  then  I  had  an  incontrovertible  array  of  facts  and 
arguments  drawn  up  by  an  infallible  secretary  and 
welded  into  cunning  verbiage  by  myself  which  I  learned 
off  by  heart.  And  the  House,  as  I  knew  it  would,  had 
been  half  asleep.  I  couldn't  fail.  But  Lola  had  to 
please  three  thousand  wideawake  Berlin  citizens,  who 
had  paid  their  money  for  entertainment,  with  no  other 
equipment  than  her  own  personality  and  the  tricks  of  a 
set  of  wretched  irresponsible  cats. 

The  orchestra  struck  up  the  act  music.  The  curtains 
parted,  and  revealed  the  brightly  polished  miniature 
gymnasium  I  had  seen  at  Anastasius's  cattery  ;  the  row 
of  pussies  at  the  back,  each  on  a  velvet  stand,  some 
white,  some  tabby,  some  long-furred,  some  short-furred, 
all  sitting  with  their  forepaws  doubled  demurely  under 
their  chests,  wagging  their  tails  comically,  and  blinking 
with  feline  indifference  at  the  footlights  ;  a  cage  in  a 
corner  in  which  I  descried  the  ferocious  wild  tom-cat  ; 
and,  busily  putting  the  last  touches  to  the  guy-ropes, 
the  pupil  and  assistant  Quast,  neatly  attired  in  a  close- 
fitting  bottle-green  uniform  with  brass  buttons.  Al- 
most immediately  Lola  appeared,  in  a  shimmering  gold 


326  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

evening  gown,  and  with  a  necklet  of  barbaric  gold  round 
her  neck.  I  had  never  seen  her  so  magnificently,  so 
commandingly  beautiful.  I  was  conscious  of  a  ripple 
of  admiration  running  through  the  huge  assembly — and 
it  was  a  queer  sensation,  half  pride,  half  angry  jealousy. 
My  immediate  neighbours  were  emphatic  in  their 
praise.  Applause  greeted  her.  She  smiled  acknow- 
ledgments and,  flicking  the  little  toy  whip  which  she 
carried  in  her  hand,  she  began  the  act.  First  of  all,  the 
cats  jumped  from  their  stands,  right-turned  like  a  mili- 
tary line,  and  walked  in  procession  round  the  stage.  At 
a  halt  and  a  signal  each  pussy  put  its  front  paws  on  its 
front  neighbour  and  the  march  began  again.  Then  Lola 
did  something  with  voice  and  whip,  and  each  cat 
dropped  on  its  paws,  and  as  if  by  magic  there  appeared 
a  space  between  every  animal. 

At  a  further  word  the  last  cat  jumped  over  the  one  in 
front  and  over  the  one  in  front  of  that  and  so  on  until, 
having  cleared  the  first  cat,  it  leaped  on  to  its  stand, 
where  it  began  to  lick  itself  placidly.  Meanwhile,  the 
penultimate  cat  had  begun  the  same  evolution,  and 
then  the  antepenultimate  cat,  until  all  the  cats  had 
cleared  the  front  one  and  had  taken  their  positions  on 
their  stands.  The  last  cat,  left  alone,  looked  round, 
yawned  in  the  face  of  the  audience,  and,  turning  tail, 
regained  its  stand  with  an  air  of  unutterable  boredom. 
The  audience,  delighted,  applauded  vehemently.  I 
raised  my  hands  as  I  clapped  them,  trying  vainly  and 
foolishly  to  catch  Lola's  eye. 

At  a  tap  of  her  whip  a  white  angora  and  a  sleek  tabby 
jumped  from  the  stands  and  took  up  their  positions  one 
at  each  end  of  a  miniature  tight-rope.  Lola  stuck  a 
tiny  Japanese  umbrella  in  the  collar  of  each  and  sent 
them  forth  on  their  perilous  journey.     When  they  met 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  327 

in  the  middle,  they  spat  and  caterwauled  and  argued 
spitefully.  The  audience  shrieked.  Then  by  a  miracle 
the  cats  cleared  each  other  and  pursued  their  sedate  and 
cautious  ways  to  their  respective  ends  of  the  rope.  The 
next  act  was  a  team  of  a  dozen  rats  drawing  a  gilded 
chariot  driven  by  a  stolid  coal-black  cat  with  green, 
expressionless  eyes,  down  an  aisle  formed  by  the  other 
cats,  who  sat  in  solemn  contemplation  on  their  tails. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  Lola's  success.  The  tricks  were 
as  marvellous  in  themselves  as  their  execution  was  flaw- 
less. During  the  applause  I  noticed  her  eagerly  scan- 
ning the  sea  of  faces.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  be  turned  in 
my  direction.  I  waved  my  handkerchief,  and  instinct 
told  me  that  at  last  she  recognised  the  point  of  pink 
and  the  flutter  of  white  as  me. 

Then  the  stage  was  cleared  of  the  gentle  cats  and  the 
wire  cage  containing  Hephcestus  was  pushed  forward 
by  Quast.  He  showed  off  the  ferocious  beast's  quality 
by  making  it  dash  itself  against  the  wires,  arch  its  huge 
back,  and  shoot  out  venomous  claws.  Lola  commanded 
him  by  sign  to  open  the  cage.  He  approached  in  simu- 
lated terror,  Hephaestus  uttering  blood-curdling  howls, 
and  every  time  he  touched  the  handle  of  the  door 
Hephaestus  sprang  at  him  like  a  tiger  with  the  tom-cat's 
hateful  hiss.  At  last,  amid  the  laughter  of  the  audience 
(for  this  was  prearranged  business),  Quast  suddenly 
refused  to  obey  his  mistress  any  more,  and  w'cnt  and 
sat  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  of  the  stage.  Then  Lola, 
with  a  glance  of  contempt  at  him  for  his  poltroonery 
and  a  glance  of  confidence  at  the  audience,  opened  the 
cage  door  and  dragged  the  gigantic  and  malevolent 
brute  out  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck  and  held  it  up  like  a 
rabbit,  as  she  had  done  in  Anastasius's  cattery. 

Suddenly  her  iron  grip  seemed  to  relax  ;    she  made 


328  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

one  or  two  ineffectual  efforts  to  retain  it  and  the  brute 
dropped  to  the  ground.  She  looked  at  it  for  a  second 
disconcerted  as  if  she  had  lost  her  nerve,  and  then,  in  a 
horrible  flash,  the  beast  sprang  at  her  face.  She  uttered 
piercing  screams.  The  blood  spurted  from  the  ghastly 
claws.  Quick  as  lightning  Quast  leapt  forward  and 
dragged  it  off.  Lola  clapped  both  hands  to  her  eyes, 
and  reeled  and  tottered  to  the  wings,  where  I  saw  a 
man's  two  arms  receive  her.  The  last  thing  I  saw  was 
Quast  kneeling  on  the  beast  on  the  floor  mastering  him 
by  some  professional  clutch.  Then  there  rang  out  a 
sharp  whistle  and  the  curtain  went  down  with  a  run. 

I  rose,  sick  with  horror,  barely  conscious  of  the  gasp- 
ing excitement  that  prevailed  around  me,  and  blindly 
groped  my  path  through  the  crowded  rows  of  folk  to- 
wards the  door.  I  had  only  proceeded  half-way  when 
a  sudden  silence  made  me  turn,  and  I  saw  a  man  address- 
ing the  audience  from  the  stage.  Apparently  it  was 
the  manager.  He  regretted  to  have  to  inform  the 
audience  that  Madame  Papadopoulos  would  not  be  able 
to  conclude  her  most  interesting  performance  that 
evening  as  she  had  unfortunately  received  injuries  of  a 
very  grave  nature.  Then  he  signalled  to  the  orchestra, 
who  crashed  into  a  loud  and  vulgar  march  with  clanging 
brass  and  thundering  drum.  It  sounded  so  cynically 
and  hideously  inhuman  that  I  trampled  recklessly  over 
people  in  my  mad  rush  to  the  exit. 

I  found  the  stage-door,  where  a  knot  of  the  per- 
formers was  assembled,  talking  horribly  of  the  acci- 
dent. I  pushed  my  way  shiveringly  through  them,  and 
tried  to  rush  into  the  building,  but  was  checked  by  a 
burly  porter  and  a  gruff  "  Was  wollen  Sie?"  I  ex- 
plained incoherently  in  my  rusty  German.  I  came  for 
news  of  Madame  Papadopoulos.     I  was  her  Vcrlobter,  I 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  329 

declared,  with  a  gush  of  inspiration.  Whether  he  be- 
Heved  that  I  was  her  affianced  I  know  not,  but  he  bade 
me  wait,  and  disappeared  with  my  card,  I  became  at 
once  the  object  of  the  curiosity  of  the  loungers.  I 
heard  them  whispering  together  as  they  pointed  me  out 
and  pitying  me.  The  cat  had  torn  her  face  away  !  said 
one  woman.  It  was  schrccklich  !  I  put  my  hands  over 
my  ears  so  as  not  to  hear.  Presently  the  porter  re- 
turned with  a  stout  person  in  authority,  who  drew  me 
into  the  stage-doorkeeper's  box. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  Frau  Papadopoulos  ?  " 

"  Friend  !  "  I  cried.  "  She  is  to  be  my  wife.  I  am 
in  a  state  of  horror  and  despair.  UmgoUcswillcn,  tell 
me  what  has  happened." 

Seeing  my  condition,  he  laid  aside  his  official  manner 
and  became  human.  It  was  a  dreadful  accident,  said 
he.  The  beast  had  apparently  got  its  claws  in  near  her 
eye  ;  but  what  were  her  exact  injuries  he  could  not  tell, 
as  her  face  was  all  over  blood  and  she  had  fainted  with 
the  pain.  The  doctor  was  with  her.  He  had  tele- 
phoned for  an  ambulance.  I  was  to  be  quite  certain 
that  she  would  receive  every  possible  attention.  He 
would  give  my  card  to  the  doctor.  Meanwhile  I  was 
quite  at  liberty  to  remain  in  the  box  till  the  ambulance 
came.     I  thanked  him. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  said  I,  "  if  you  can  let  me  have 
a  word  with  Fraiilein  Dawkins,  her  maid,  should  she  be 
in  the  theatre,  or  Quast,  her  attendant,  I  should  be 
grateful." 

He  promised  and  withdrew.  The  doorkeeper  gave 
me  a  wooden  chair,  and  there  I  sat  for  an  unconscion- 
able time,  faint  and  dizzy  with  suspense.  The  chance 
words  I  had  heard  in  the  crowd,  the  manager's  remark 
about  the  claws,  the  memory  of  the  savage  spring  at  the 


330  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

beloved  face  made  me  feel  sick.  Every  now  and  then, 
as  some  doors  leading  to  the  stage  swung  open,  I  could 
hear  the  orchestra  and  the  laughter  and  applause  of  the 
audience.  Both  Dawkins  and  Quast  visited  me.  The 
former  was  in  a  helpless  state  of  tears  and  hand-wring- 
ing. As  she  knew  no  word  of  German  she  could  under- 
stand nothing  that  the  doctors  or  others  said.  Madame 
was  unconscious.  Her  head  was  tightly  bandaged. 
That  was  all  the  definite  information  she  had. 

"  Did  Madame  know  I  was  in  front  to-night  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir  !  I  think  she  had  a  letter  from  you. 
She  was  so  pleased,  poor  dear  Madame.  She  told  me 
that  you  would  see  the  best  performance  she  had  ever 
given." 

Whereupon  she  broke  down  and  was  useless  for  fur- 
ther examination.  Then  Quast  came.  He  could  not 
understand  how  the  accident  had  occurred.  Hephcestus 
had  never  before  tried  to  attack  her.  She  had  absolute 
mastery  over  him,  and  he  usually  behaved  with  her  as 
gently  as  any  of  the  other  cats.  With  himself  it  was 
quite  different.  He  was  accustomed  to  Hephaestus 
springmg  at  him  ;  but  then  he  beat  hun  hard  with  a 
great  stick  until  he  was  so  sore  that  he  could  neither 
stand  up  nor  lie  down. 

"  I  have  always  implored  Madame  to  carry  some- 
thing heavier  than  that  silly  little  whip,  and  now  it's  all 
over.  She  will  never  be  able  to  control  him  again. 
Hephcestus  will  have  to  be  killed,  and  I  will  be  desolate. 
Ach,  what  a  misfortune  !  " 

He  began  to  weep. 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried  ;  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you're  sorry  for  the  brute  ?  " 

"  One  can't  help  being  fond  of  him — das  arme  Tier  ! 
We  have  been  for  five  years  inseparable  companions  !  " 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  331 

I  had  no  sympathy  to  fling  away  on  him  at  that 
moment. 

"  How  do  you  account  for  his  spring  at  Madame  to- 
night ?     That's  all  I  want  to  know." 

"  She  must  have  been  thinking  of  something  else 
when  she  grabbed  him,  gnadiger  Hery.  For  she  missed 
her  grip.  Then  he  fell  and  was  frightened,  and  she 
must  have  lost  her  nerve.  Hephaestus  knew  it,  and 
sprang.  That  is  always  the  case  when  wild  animals 
turn.     All  accidents  happen  like  that." 

His  words  filled  me  with  a  new  and  sickening  dread. 
"  She  must  have  been  thinking  of  something  else."  Of 
what  else  but  of  my  presence  there  ?  That  stupid, 
selfish  wave  of  the  handkerchief !  I  sat  gnawing  my 
hands  and  cursing  myself. 

The  ambulance  arrived.  Men  hurried  past  my  box. 
I  waited  again  in  agony  of  mind.  At  last  the  porter 
came  and  cleared  the  passage  and  doorway  of  loungers, 
and  I  heard  the  tread  of  footsteps  and  gruff  directions. 
The  manager  and  a  man  in  a  frock-coat  and  black  tie, 
whom  I  recognised  as  the  doctor,  came  down  the  pas- 
sage, followed  by  two  great  men  carrying  between  them 
a  stretcher  covered  by  a  sheet  on  which  lay  all  that  I 
loved  in  life.  Dawkins  followed,  weeping,  and  then 
came  several  theatre  folk.  I  went  outside  and  saw 
the  stretcher  put  into  the  ambulance-van,  and  then  I 
made  myself  known  to  the  doctor. 

"  She  has  received  very  grave  injuries — chiefly  the 
right  cheek  and  eye.  So  much  so  that  she  needs  an 
oculist's  care  at  once.  I  have  telephoned  to  Dr.  Stein- 
holz,  of  No.  4  Thiergarten,  one  of  our  ablest  oculists, 
to  receive  her  now  into  his  clinique.  If  you  care  to  do 
so,  you  are  welcome  to  accompany  me." 

I  drove  through  the  gay,  flaring  streets  of  Berlin  like 
a  man  in  a  phantasmagoria  of  horror. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

The  first  time  they  allowed  me  to  see  her  was  after  many 
days  of  nerve-racking  anxiety.     I  had  indeed  called  at 
the  clinique  two  or  three  times  a  day  for  news,  and  I 
had   written   short   letters   of   comfort   and   received 
weirdly-spelt  messages  taken  down  from  Lola's  dictation 
by  a  nurse  with  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  English. 
These  kept  the  heart  in  me  ;    for  the  doctor's  reports 
were  invariably  grave — possible  loss  of   sight  in  the 
injured  eye  and  permanent  disfigurement  their  most 
hopeful  prognostications.     I  lived,  too,  in  a  nervous 
agony  of  remorse.     For  whatever  happened   I   held 
myself  responsible.     At  first  they  thought  her  life  was 
in    danger.     I    passed    nightmare    days.     Then    the 
alarming  symptoms  subsided,  and  it  was  a  question  of 
the  saving  of  the  eye  and  the  decent  healing  of  the 
cheek  torn  deep  by  the  claws  of  the  accursed  brute. 
When  Quast  informed  me  of  its  summary  execution  I 
felt  the  primitive  savage  arise  in  me,  and  I  upbraided 
Quast  for  not  having  invited  me  to  gloat  over  its  ex- 
piring throes.     How  the  days  passed  I  know  not.     I 
wandered  about  the  streets,  looking  into  the  windows  of 
the  great  shops,  buying  flowers  and  fruit  for  Lola  in 
eccentric  quantities,  or  sitting  in  beerhouses  reading  the 
financial  pages  of  a  German  paper  held  upside  down.     I 
could  not  return  to  London.     Still  less  could  I  investi- 
gate the  Germanlphilanthropic  methods  of  rescuing 
fallen  women.     I  wrote  to  Campion  a  brief  account  of 
what  had  happened  and  besought  him  to  set  a  deputy 
to  work  on  the  regeneration  of  the  Judds. 

332 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  333 

At  last  they  brought  me  to  where  Lola  lay,  in  a 
darkened  room,  with  her  head  tightly  bandaged.  A 
dark  mass  spread  over  the  pillow  which  I  knew  was  her 
glorious  hair,  I  could  scarcely  see  the  unbandaged 
half  of  her  face.  She  still  suffered  acute  pain,  and  I  was 
warned  that  my  visit  could  only  be  of  brief  duration,  and 
that  nothing  but  the  simplest  matters  could  be  discussed. 
I  sat  down  on  a  chair  by  the  left  side  of  the  bed.  Her 
wonderful  nervous  hand  clung  round  mine  as  we  talked. 
The  first  thing  she  said  to  me,  in  a  weak  voice,  Hke 
the  faint  echo  of  her  deep  tones,  was  : 

"  I'm  going  to  lose  all  my  good  looks,  Simon,  and  you 
won't  care  to  look  at  me  any  more." 

She  said  it  so  simply,  so  tenderly,  without  a  hint  of 
reproach  in  it,  that  I  almost  shouted  out  my  horrible 
remorse  ;  but  I  remembered  my  injunctions  and  re- 
frained. I  strove  to  comfort  her,  telling  her  mythical 
tales  of  surgical  reassurances.  She  shook  her  head 
sadly. 

"  It  was  like  you  to  stay  in  Berlin,  Simon,"  she  said 
after  a  while.  "  Although  they  wouldn't  let  me  see 
you,  yet  I  knew  you  were  within  call.  You  can't  con- 
ceive what  a  comfort  it  has  been." 

"  How  could  I  leave  you,  dear,"  said  I,  "  witli  the 
thought  of  you  throbbing  in  my  head  night  and  day  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  fmd  me  ?  " 

"  Through  Conto  and  Blag.  I  tried  all  other  means, 
you  may  be  sure.  But  now  I've  found  you  I  shan't  let 
you  go  again." 

This  was  not  the  time  for  elaborate  explanations. 
She  asked  for  none.  When  one  is  very  ill  one  takes  the 
most  unlikely  happenings  as  commonplace  occurrences. 
It  seemed  enough  to  her  that  I  was  by  her  side.  We 
talked  of  her  nurses,  who  were  kind  ;  of  the  skill  of  Dr. 


334  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Steinliolz,  who  brought  into  his  dinique  the  rigid  dis- 
cipUne  of  a  man-of-war. 

"  He  wouldn't  even  let  me  have  your  flowers,"  she 
said.  "  And  even  if  he  had  I  shouldn't  have  been  able 
to  see  them  in  this  dark  hole." 

She  questioned  me  as  to  my  doings.  I  told  her  of 
my  move  to  Barbara's  Building. 

"  And  I'm  keeping  you  from  all  that  splendid  work," 
she  said  weakly.  "  You  must  go  back  at  once,  Simon. 
I  shall  get  along  nicely  now,  and  I  shall  be  happy  now 
that  I've  seen  you  again." 

I  kissed  her  fingers.  "  You  have  to  learn  a  lesson, 
my  dear,  which  will  do  you  an  enormous  amount  of 
good." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  glorious  duty  of  selfishness,"  said  I. 

Then  the  minute  hand  of  the  clock  marked  the  end 
of  the  interview,  and  the  nurse  appeared  on  the  click 
and  turned  me  out. 

After  that  I  saw  her  daily  ;  gradually  our  interviews 
lengthened,  and  as  she  recovered  strength  our  talks 
wandered  from  the  little  incidents  and  interests  of  the 
sick-room  to  the  general  topics  of  our  lives.  I  told  her 
of  all  that  had  happened  to  me  since  her  flight.  And  I 
told  her  that  I  wanted  her  and  her  only  of  all  women. 

"  Why — oh,  why,  did  you  do  such  a  foolish  thing  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  I  did  it  for  your  good." 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  have  you  ever  heard  the  story 
of  the  tender-hearted  elephant  ?  No  ?  It  was  told 
in  a  wonderful  book  published  years  ago  and  called 
'  The  Fables  of  George  Washington  .Esop.'  This  is  it. 
There  was  once  an  elephant  who  accidentally  trod  on 
the  mother  of  a  brood   of  newly  hatched  chickens. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  335 

Her  tender  heart  filled  with  remorse  for  what  she  had 
done,  and,  overflowing  with  pity  for  the  fluffy  orphans, 
she  wept  bitterly,  and  addressed  them  thus  :  '  Poor 
little  motherless  things,  doomed  to  face  the  rough 
world  without  a  parent's  care,  I  myself  will  be  a  mother 
to  you.'  Whereupon,  gathering  them  under  her  with 
maternal  fondness,  she  sat  down  on  the  whole  brood." 

The  unbandaged  half  of  her  face  lit  up  with  a  wan 
smile.     "  Did  I  do  that  ?  " 

"  Something  like  it,"  said  I. 

"  I  didn't  conceive  it  possible  that  you  could  love  me 
except  for  the  outside  things." 

"  You  might  have  waited  and  seen,"  said  I  in  mild 
reproof. 

She  sighed.  "  You'll  never  understand.  Do  you 
remember  my  saying  once  that  you  reminded  me  of  an 
English  duke  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  made  fun  of  me  ;  but  you  must  have  known 
what  I  meant.  You  see,  Simon,  you  didn't  seem  to 
care  a  hang  for  me  in  that  way — until  quite  lately.  You 
were  goodness  and  kindness  itself,  and  I  felt  that  you 
would  stick  by  me  as  a  friend  through  thick  and  thin  ; 
but  I  had  given  up  hoping  for  anything  else.  And^I 
knew  there  was  some  one  only  waiting  for  you,  a  real 
refined  lady.  So  when  you  kissed  me,  I  didn't  dare 
beheve  it.  And  I  had  made  you  kiss  me.  I  told  you  so, 
and  I  was  as  ashamed  as  if  I  had  suddenly  turned  into 
a  loose  woman.  And  when  Miss  Faversham  came,  I 
knew  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  marry  her,  for  all  the 
flattering  things  she  said  to  me,  I  knew " 

"  My  dear,"  I  interrupted,  "  you  didn't  know  at  all. 
1  loved  you  ever  since  I  saw  you  first  lying  like  a  wonder- 
ful panther  in  your  chair  at  Cadogan  Gardens.     You 


336  SIMON  THE  HESTER 

wove  yourself  into  all  my  thoughts  and  around  all  my 
actions.  One  of  these  days  I'll  show  you  a  kind  of 
diary  I  used  to  keep,  and  you'll  see  how  I  abused  you 
behind  your  back." 

Her  face — or  the  dear  half  of  it  that  was  visible — 
fell.     "  Oh,  why  ?  " 

"  For  making  me  turn  aside  from  the  nice  little 
smooth  path  to  the  grave  which  I  had  marked  out  for 
myself.  I  regarded  myself  as  a  genteel  semi-corpse, 
and  didn't  want  to  be  disturbed." 

"  And  I  disturbed  you  ?  " 

"  Until  I  danced  with  fury  and  called  down  on  your 
dear  head  maledictions  which  for  fulness  and  snap  would 
have  made  a  mediaeval  Pope  squirm  with  envy." 

She  pressed  my  hand.  "  You  are  making  fun  again. 
I  thought  you  were  serious." 

"  I  am,"  said  I.  "  I'm  telling  you  exactly  what 
happened.  Then,  when  I  was  rapidly  approaching  the 
other  world,  it  didn't  matter.  At  last  I  died  and  came 
to  life  again  ;  but  it  took  me  a  long  time  to  come  really 
to  life.  I  was  like  a  tree  in  spring  which  has  one  bud 
which  obstinately  refuses  to  burst  into  blossom.  At 
last  it  did  burst,  and  all  the  love  that  had  been  working 
in  my  heart  came  to  my  lips  ;  and,  incidentally,  my 
dear,  to  yours." 

This  was  at  the  early  stages  of  her  recovery,  when  one 
could  only  speak  of  gentle  things.  She  told  me  of  her 
simple  Odyssey — a  period  of  waiting  in  Paris,  an  en- 
gagement at  Vienna  and  Budapest,  and  then  Berlin. 
Her  agents  had  booked  a  week  in  Dresden,  and  a  fort- 
night in  Homburg,  and  she  would  have  to  pay  the 
forfeit  for  breach  of  contract. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  Anastasius's  sake,"  she  said.  "  The 
poor  little  mite  wrote  me  rapturous  letters  when  he 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  337 

heard  I  was  out  with  the  cats.     He  gave  me  a  long 
special  message  for  each,  which  I  was  to  whisper  in  its 


ear." 


Poor  httle  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  !  She  showed 
me  his  letters,  written  in  a  great,  round,  flourishing, 
sanguine  hand.  He  seemed  to  be  happy  enough  at  the 
maison  dc  sante.  He  had  formed,  he  said,  a  school  for 
the  cats  of  the  establishment,  for  which  the  authorities 
were  very  grateful,  and  he  heralded  the  completion  of 
his  gigantic  combinations  with  regard  to  the  discovery 
of  the  assassin  of  the  horse  Sultan.  Lola  and  I  never 
spoke  of  him  without  pain  ;  for  in  spite  of  his  crazy 
and  bombastic  oddities,  he  had  qualities  that  were 
lovable. 

"  And  now,"  said  Lola,  "  I  must  tell  him  that 
Hephaestus  has  been  killed,  and  the  rest  are  again 
idhng  under  the  care  of  the  faithful  Quast.  It  seemed  a 
pity  to  kill  the  poor  beast." 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven,"  said  I,  "  that  he  had  been, 
strangled  at  birth  !  " 

"  You  never  Hked  him."  She  smiled  wanly.  "  But 
he  is  scarcely  to  be  blamed.  I  grew  unaccountably 
nervous  and  lost  control.  All  savage  animals  are  like 
that."  And,  seeing  that  I  was  about  to  protest 
vehemently,  she  smiled  again.  "  Remember,  I'm  a 
hon-tamer's  daughter,  and  brought  up  from  childhood 
to  regard  these  things  as  part  of  the  show.  There  must 
always  come  a  second's  failure  of  concentration.  Lots 
of  tamers  meet  their  deaths  sooner  or  later  for  the  same 
reason — just  a  sudden  loss  of  magnetism.  The  beast 
gets  frightened  and  springs." 

Exactly  what' Quast  had  told  me.  Exactly  what  I 
myself  had  divined  at  the  sickening  moment.  I  bowed 
my  head  and  laid  the  back  of  her  cool  hand  against  it, 

Y 


338  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

and  groaned  out  my  remorse.  If  I  had  not  been  there  ! 
If  I  had  not  distracted  her  attention  !  She  would  not 
listen  to  my  self-reproach.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with 
me.  She  had  simply  missed  her  grip  and  lost  her  head. 
She  forbade  me  to  mention  the  subject  again.  The 
misery  of  thinking  that  I  held  myself  to  blame  was 
unbearable.  I  said  no  more,  realising  the  acute 
distress  of  her  generous  soul,  but  in  my  heart  I  made  a 
deep  vow  of  reparation. 

It  was,  however,  with  no  such  chivalrous  feelings,  but 
out  of  the  simple  longing  to  fulfil  my  hfe  that  I  asked 
her  definitely,  for  the  first  time,  to  marry  me  as  soon  as 
she  could  get  about  the  world  again.  I  put  before  her 
with  what  deUcacy  I  could  that  if  she  had  foohsh  ideas 
of  my  being  above  her  in  station,  she  was  above  me  in 
worldly  fortune,  and  thus  we  both  had  to  make  some 
sacrifices  to  our  pride.  I  said  that  my  work  was  found 
— that  our  lives  could  be  regulated  as  she  wished. 

She  Hstened,  without  saying  a  word,  until  I  had 
finished.     Then  she  took  my  hand. 

"  I'm  grateful,"  she  said,  "  and  I'm  proud.  And  I 
know  that  I  love  you  beyond  all  things  on  earth.  But 
I  won't  give  you  an  answer  till  I'm  up  and  about  on  my 
feet  again." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  insisted. 

"  Don't  ask.  And  don't  mention  the  matter  again. 
You  must  be  good  to  me,  because  I'm  ill,  and  do  what  I 

say." 

She  smiled  and  fondled  my  hand,  and  cajoled  a 
reluctant  promise  from  me. 

Then  came  days  in  which,  for  no  obvious  reason, 

Lola  received  me  with  anxious  frightened  diffidence, 

and  spoke  with  constraint.     The  cheerfulness  which  she 

:had  hitherto  exhibited  gave  place  to  dull  depression. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  339 

She  urged  me  continually  to  leave  Berlin,  where,  as  she 
said,  I  was  wasting  my  time,  and  to  return  to  my  work 
in  London. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right,  Simon,  perfectly  all  right,  and  as 
soon  as  I  can  travel,  I'll  come  straight  to  London." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  slip  through  my  fingers 
again,"  I  would  say  laughingly. 

"  But  I  promise  you,  I'll  swear  to  you  I'll  come  back  ! 
Only  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  idling  around  a 
woman's  sick-bed,  when  you  have  such  glorious  things  to 
do  at  home.     That's  a  man's  work,  Simon.    This  isn't." 

"  But  it  is  a  man's  work,"  I  would  declare,  "to  devote 
himself  to  the  woman  he  loves  and  not  to  leave  her 
helpless,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land." 

*'  I  wish  you  would  go,  Simon.  I  do  wish  you  would 
go  !  "  she  would  say  wearily.  "  It's  the  only  favour  I've 
ever  asked  you  in  my  life." 

Man-like,  I  looked  within  myself  to  find  the  reason 
for  these  earnest  requests.  In  casting  off  my  jester's 
suit  had  I  also  divested  myself  of  the  power  to  be  a 
decently  interesting  companion  ?  Had  I  become 
merely  a  dull,  tactless,  egotistical  bore  ?  Was  I,  in 
simple,  naked,  horrid  fact,  getting  on  an  invalid's 
delicate  nerves  ?  I  was  scared  at  the  new  picture  of 
myself  thus  presented.  I  became  self-conscious  and 
made  particular  efforts  to  bring  a  little  gaiety  into  our 
talk  ;  but  though  she  smiled  with  her  hps,  the  cloud, 
whatever  it  was,  hung  heavily  on  her  mind,  and  at  the 
first  opportunity  she  came  back  to  the  ceaseless 
argument. 

In  despair  I  took  her  nurse  into  my  confidence. 

"  She  is  right,"  said  the  nurse.  "  You  are  doing  her 
more  harm  than  good.  You  had  much  better  go  away 
and  write  to  her  daily  from  London." 


340  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

"  But  why — but  why  ?  "  I  clamoured.  "  Can't  you 
give  me  any  reason  ?  " 

The  nurse  glanced  at  me  with  a  touch  of  feminine 
scorn, 

"  The  bandages  will  soon  be  removed." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The  sight  of  the  one  eye  may  be  gone." 

"  I  know,"  said  I.  "  She  is  reconciled  to  it.  She 
has  the  courage  and  resignation  of  a  saint." 

"  She  has  also  the  very  common  and  natural  fears 
of  a  woman." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  I  cried,  "  tell  me  plainly  what 
you  mean." 

"  We  don't  quite  know  what  disfigurement  will 
result,"  said  the  nurse  bluntly.  "It  is  certain  to  be 
very  great,  and  the  dread  of  your  seeing  her  is  making 
her  ill  and  retarding  her  recovery.  So  if  you  have  any 
regard  for  her,  pack  up  your  things  and  go  away." 

"  But,"  I  remonstrated,  "  I'm  bound  to  see  her 
sooner  or  later." 

The  nurse  lost  patience.  "  Ach  !  Wie  durum  sind 
die  Manner  !  Can't  you  get  it  into  your  head  that  it  is 
essential  it  should  be  later,  when  she  is  strong  enough 
to  stand  the  strain  and  has  realised  the  worst  and  made 
her  little  preparations  ?  " 

I  accepted  the  rebuke  meekly.  The  situation,  when 
explained,  was  comprehensible  to  the  meanest  masculine 
intelligence. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  I. 

When  I  announced  this  determination  to  Lola  she 
breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  shall  be  so  much  happier,"  she  said. 

Then  she  raised  both  her  arms  and  drew  my  head 
down  until  our  lips  met.     "  Dear,"  she  whispered,  still 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  341 

holding  me,  "  if  I  hadn't  run  away  from  you  before  I 
should  run  away  now  ;  but  it  would  be  so  silly  to  do  it 
twice.  So  I'll  come  to  London  as  soon  as  the  doctor 
will  let  me.  But  if  you  find  you  don't  and  can't 
possibly  love  me  I  shan't  feel  hurt  with  you.  I've  had 
some  months,  I  know,  of  your  love,  and  that  will  last 
me  all  my  life  ;  and  I  know  that  whatever  happens 
you'll  be  my  very  dear  and  devoted  friend." 

"  I  shall  be  your  lover  always  !  "  I  swore. 

She  shook  her  head  and  released  me.  A  great  pity 
welled  up  in  my  heart,  for  I  know  now  why  she  had 
forbidden  me  to  speak  of  marriage,  and  in  some  dim 
way  I  got  to  the  depth  of  her  woman's  nature.  I 
realised,  as  far  as  a  man  can,  how  the  sudden  blasting 
of  a  woman's  beauty  must  revolutionise  not  only  her 
own  attitude  towards  the  world,  but  her  conception  of 
the  world's  attitude  towards  her.  Only  a  few  weeks 
before  she  had  gone  about  proudly  conscious  of  her 
superb  magnificence.  It  was  the  triumphant  weapon 
in  her  woman's  armoury,  to  use  when  she  so  chose.  It 
had  illuminated  a  man's  journey  (I  knew  and  felt  it  now) 
through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow.  It  had  held  his 
senses  captive.  It  had  brought  him  to  her  feet.  It  was 
a  charm  that  she  could  always  offer  to  his  eyes.  It  was 
her  glory  and  her  pride  to  enhance  it  for  his  delectation. 
Her  beauty  was  herself.  That  gone,  she  had  nothing 
but  a  worthless  soul  to  offer,  and  what  woman  would 
dream  of  offering  a  man  her  soul  if  she  had  no  casket 
in  which  to  enshrine  it  ?  If  I  had  presented  this  other 
aspect  of  the  case  to  Lola,  she  would  have  cried  out, 
with  perfect  sincerity  : 

"My  soul !  You  get  things  like  mine  anywhere  for 
twopence  a  dozen." 

It  was  the  blasting  of  her  beauty  that  was  the  infinite 


342  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

matter.  All  that  I  loved  would  be  gone.  She  would 
have  nothing  left  to  give.  The  splendour  of  the  day 
had  ceased,  and  now  was  coming  the  long,  long  dreary 
night,  to  meet  which  with  dignity  she  was  nerving  her 
brave  heart. 

The  tears  were  not  far  from  my  eyes  when  I  said 
again  softly  : 

"  Your  lover  always,  dear." 

"  Make  no  promises,"  she  said,  *'  except  one." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  write  to  me  often  until  I  come  home." 

"  Every  day,"  said  I. 

So  we  parted,  and  I  returned  to  London  and  to  my 
duties  at  Barbara's  Building.  I  wrote  daily,  and  her 
dictated  answers  gave  me  knowledge  of  her  progress. 
To  my  immense  relief,  I  heard  that  the  oculist's  skill 
had  saved  her  eyesight ;  but  it  could  not  obliterate 
the  traces  of  the  cruel  claws. 

The  days,  although  fuller  with  work  and  interests, 
appeared  long  until  she  came.  I  saw  but  little  of  the 
outside  world.  Dale,  my  sister  Agatha,  Sir  Joshua 
Oldfield,  and  Campion  were  the  only  friends  I  met. 
Dale  was  ingenuously  sympathetic  when  he  heard  of 
the  calamity. 

"  What's  going  to  happen  ?  "  he  asked,  after  he  had 
exhausted  his  vocabulary  of  abuse  on  cats.  Providence 
and  Anastasius  Papadopoulos.  "  What's  the  poor  dear 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  to  have  any  voice  in  the  matter,"  said  I, 
"  she  is  going  to  marry  me." 

He  wrung  me  by  the  hand  enthusicistically  and 
declared  that  I  was  the  splendidest  fellow  that  ever 
lived.     Then  he  sighed. 

"  I  am  going  about  like  a  sheep  without  a  leader. 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  343 

For  Heaven's  sake,  come  back  into  politics.  Form 
an  hilarious  little  party  of  your  own — anything — so  long 
as  you're  back  and  take  me  with  you." 

"  Come  to  Barbara's  Building,"  said  I. 

But  he  made  a  wry  face,  and  said  that  he  did  not 
think  Maisie  would  like  it.  I  laughed  and  put  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  My  son,"  said  I,  "  you  have  a  leader  already,  and 
she  has  already  tied  a  blue  riband  round  your  woolly 
neck,  and  she  is  pulling  you  wherever  she  wants  to  go. 
And  it's  all  to  the  infinite  advantage  of  your  eternal 
soul." 

Whereupon  he  grinned  and  departed  to  the  sheepfold. 

At  last  Lola  came.  She  begged  me  not  to  meet  her 
at  the  station,  but  to  go  round  after  dinner  to  Cadogan 
Gardens. 

Dawkins  opened  the  door  for  me  and  showed  me 
into  the  familiar  drawing-room.  The  long  summer  day 
was  nearing  its  end,  and  only  a  dim  twilight  came 
through  the  open  windows.  Lola  was  standing  rigid 
on  the  hearthrug,  her  hand  shielding  the  whole  of  the 
right  side  of  her  face.  With  the  free  hand  she  checked 
my  impetuous  advance. 

"  Stop  and  look  !  "  she  said,  and  then  dropped  the 
shielding  hand,  and  stood  before  me  with  twitching  lips 
and  death  in  her  eyes.  I  saw  in  a  flash  the  devastation 
that  had  been  wrought ;  but,  thank  God,  I  pierced 
beneath  it  to  the  anguish  in  her  heart.  The  pity — the 
awful,  poignant  pity — of  it  smote  me.  Everything 
that  was  man  in  me  surged  towards  her.  What  she  saw 
in  my  eyes  I  know  not ;  but  in  hers  dawned  a  sudden 
wonder.  There  was  no  recoil  of  shock,  such  as  she  had 
steeled  herself  to  encounter.  I  sprang  forward  and 
clasped  her  in  my  arms.     Her  stiffened  frame  gradually 


344  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

relaxed  and  our  lips  met,  and  in  that  kiss  all  fears  and 
doubts  were  dissolved  for  ever. 

Some  hours  later  she  said  :  "If  you  are  blind  enough 
to  care  for  a  maimed  thing  like  me,  I  can't  help  it.  I 
shall  never  understand  it  to  my  dying  day,"  she  added 
with  a  long  sigh. 

"  And  you  wiU  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I've  got  to,"  she  replied.  And  with  the 
old  pantherine  twist  of  her  body  she  slid  from  her  easy 
chair  to  the  ground  and  buried  her  face  on  my  knees. 

And  that  is  the  end  of  my  story.  We  were  quietly 
married  three  weeks  afterwards.  Agatha,  wishing  to 
humour  a  maniac  for  whom  she  retained  an  unreason- 
able affection,  came  to  the  wedding  and  treated  Lola 
as  only  a  sweet  lady  could.  But  my  doings  passed  her 
understanding.  As  for  Jane,  my  other  sister,  she 
cast  me  from  her.  People  who  did  these  things,  she 
maintained,  must  bear  the  consequences.  I  bore  them 
bravely.  It  is  only  now  that  my  name  is  beginning  to 
be  noised  abroad  as  that  of  one  who  speaks  with  some 
knowledge  on  certain  social  questions  that  Jane  holds 
out  the  olive  branch  of  fraternal  peace.  After  a  brief 
honeymoon  Lola  insisted  on  joining  me  in  Barbara's 
Building.  A  set  of  rooms  next  to  mine  was  vacant, 
and  Campion,  who  welcomed  a  new  worker,  had  the 
two  sets  thrown  into  what  house-agents  term  a  com- 
modious fiat.  She  is  now  Lady  Superior  of  the  Insti- 
tution. The  title  is  Campion's,  and  for  some  old 
feminine  reason  Lola  is  delighted  with  it. 

Yes,  this  is  the  end  of  the  story  which  I  began  (it 
seems  in  a  previous  incarnation)  at  Murglebed-on-Sea. 

The  maiming  of  Lola's  beauty  has  been  the  last  jest 
which  the  Arch- J  ester  has  practised  on  me.     I  fancy 


■   ■  SIMON  THE  JESTER  345 

he  thought  that  this  final  scurvy  trick  would  wipe  Simon 
de  Gex  for  ever  out  of  the  ranks  of  his  rivals.  But  I 
flatter  myself  that,  having  snapped  my  fingers  in  his 
face,  the  last  laugh  has  been  on  my  side.  He  has 
withdrawn  discomfited  from  the  conflict  and  left  me 
master  of  the  ground.  Love  conquers  all,  even  the 
Arch-Jester. 

There  are  some  who  still  point  to  me  as  one  who  has 
deliberately  ruined  a  brilliant  career,  who  pity  me  as 
one  who  has  gone  under,  who  speak  with  shrugged 
shoulders  and  uplifted  eyebrows  at  my  unfortunate 
marriage  and  my  obscure  and  cranky  occupation.  The 
world,  they  say,  was  at  my  feet.  So  it  was.  But  what 
the  pitying  critics  lack  the  grace  to  understand  is  that 
better  than  to  have  it  under  one's  feet  is  to  have  it,  or 
that  of  it  which  matters,  at  one's  heart. 

I  sit  in  this  tiny  hotel  by  the  sea  and  reflect  that 
it  is  over  three  years  since  I  awoke  from  death  and 
assumed  a  new  avatar.  And  since  my  marriage,  what 
have  been  the  happenings  ? 

Dale  has  just  been  elected  for  the  Fensham  Division 
of  Westmorland,  and  he  has  already  begun  the  line  of 
sturdy  young  Kynnersleys,  of  which  I  had  eumoirous 
dreams  long  ago.  Quast  and  the  cats  have  passed  into 
alien  hands.  Anastasius  Papadopoulos  is  dead.  He 
died  three  months  ago  of  angina  pectoris,  and  Lola  was 
with  him  at  the  end.  Eleanor  Faversham  has  married 
a  colonial  bishop.  Campion,  too,  has  married — and 
married  the  last  woman  in  the  world  to  whom  one 
would  have  thought  of  mating  him — a  frivolous  butter- 
fly of  a  creature  who  drags  him  to  dinner-parties  and 
Ascot  and  suppers  at  the  Savoy,  and  holds  Barbara's 
Building  and  all  that  it  connotes  in  vixenish  detestation. 
He  roars  out  the  agony  of  his  philanthropic  spirit  to 


346  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

Lola  and  myself,  who  administer  consolation  and  the 
cold  mutton  that  he  loves.  The  story  of  his  marriage 
is  a  little  lunatic  drama  all  to  itself  and  I  will  tell  it 
some  day.  But  now  I  can  only  rough-sketch  the  facts. 
He  works  when  he  can  at  the  beloved  creation  of  his 
life  and  fortune  ;  but  the  brain  that  would  be  inade- 
quate to  the  self-protecting  needs  of  a  ferret  controls 
the  action  of  this  masterful  enthusiast,  and  his  one 
awful  despair  in  life  is  to  touch  a  heart  that  might  beat 
in  the  bosom  of  a  vicious  and  calculating  haddock.  I 
only  mention  this  to  explain  how  it  has  come  to  pass 
that  Lola  and  I  are  now  all-powerful  in  Barbara's 
Building.  It  has  become  the  child  of  our  adoption, 
and  we  love  it  with  a  deep  and  almost  fanatic  affection. 
Before  Lola  my  influence  and  personality  fade  into 
nothingness.  She  is  the  power,  the  terror,  the  adora- 
tion of  Lambeth.  If  she  chose  she  could  control  the 
Parliamentary  vote  of  the  borough.  Her  great,  direct, 
large-hearted  personality  carries  all  before  it.  And 
with  it  there  is  something  of  the  uncanny.  A  feat  of 
hers  in  the  early  days  is  by  way  of  becoming  legendary. 

A  woman,  on  the  books  of  the  BuUding,  was  about 
to  bring  a  hopeless  human  fragment  into  a  grey  world. 
Lola  went  to  see  what  aid  the  Building  could  provide. 
In  front  of  the  door  lounged  the  husband,  a  hulking 
porter  in  a  Bermondsey  factory.  Glowering  at  his  feet 
lay  a  vicious  mongrel  dog — bull-terrier,  Irish  terrier, 
mastiff — so  did  Lola  with  her  trained  eye  distinguish 
the  strains.  When  she  asked  for  his  wife  in  travail  the 
chivalrous  gentleman  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  spat, 
and  after  the  manner  of  his  kind  referred  to  the  dis- 
figurement of  her  face  in  terms  impossible  to  transcribe. 
She  paid  no  attention. 

"I'm  coming  upstairs  to  see  your  wife." 


SIMON  THE  JESTER  347 

"  If  you  pass  that  door,  s'welp  mc  Gawd,  I'll  set  the 
dog  on  yer." 

She  paused.  He  urged  on  the  dog,  who  bristled  and 
growled  and  showed  his  teeth.  Lola  picked  the  animal 
up,  as  she  would  have  picked  up  a  sofa  cushion,  and 
threw  him  across  the  street.  She  went  to  where  he 
had  fallen,  ordered  him  to  her  feet,  and  the  dog  licked 
her  hand.     She  came  back  with  a  laugh. 

"  I'll  do  the  same  to  you  if  you  don't  let  me  in  !  " 

She  pushed  the  hulking  brute  aside.  He  resisted  and 
laid  hands  on  her.  By  some  extraordinary  tamer's  art 
of  which  she  has  in  vain  tried  to  explain  to  me  the 
secret,  and  with  no  apparent  effort,  she  glided  away 
from  him  and  sent  him  cowering  and  subdued  some  feet 
beyond  the  lintel  of  the  door.  The  street,  which  was 
watching,  went  into  a  roar  of  laughter  and  applause. 
Lola  mounted  the  stairs  and  attended  to  the  business  in 
hand.  When  she  came  down  the  man  was  still  stand- 
ing at  the  threshold  smoking  an  obfuscated  pipe.  He 
blinked  at  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  human  dynamo. 

"  Come  round  to  Barbara's  Building  at  six  o'clock 
and  tell  me  how  she  is." 

He  came  on  the  stroke  of  six. 

The  fame  of  Lola  spread  through  the  borough,  and 
now  she  can  walk  feared,  honoured,  unmolested  by 
night  or  day  through  streets  of  horror  and  crime,  which 
neither  I  nor  any  other  man — no  matter  how  courageous 
— dare  enter  at  certain  hours  without  the  magical 
protection  of  a  policeman. 

Sunshine  has  come  at  last,  both  into  this  little  back- 
water of  the  world  by  the  sea  and  into  my  own  life, 
and  it  is  time  I  should  end  this  futile  record. 

Yesterday  as  we  lay  on  the  sands,  watching  the  waves 
idly  lap  the  shore,  Lola  brought  herself  nearer  to  me 


348  SIMON  THE  JESTER 

with  a  rhythmic  movement  as  no  other  creature  form 
of  woman  is  capable  of,  and  looked  into  my  eyes.  And 
she  whispered  something  to  me  which  led  to  an  infinite 
murmuring  of  foolish  things.  I  put  my  arms  round 
her  and  kissed  her  on  her  lips  and  on  her  cheek — 
whether  the  beautiful  or  the  maimed  I  knew  not — and 
she  sank  into  a  long,  long  silence.     At  last  she  said  : 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

I  said,  "  I'm  thinking  that  not  a  single  human  being 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  has  a  sense  of  humour." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Simply  this,"  said  I,  "  that  what  has  occurred 
billions  of  billions  of  millions  of  times  on  the  earth  we 
are  now  regarding  as  the  only  thing  that  ever  happened." 

"  Well,"  said  Lola,  "  so  it  is — for  us — the  only  thing 
that  ever  happened." 

And  the  astounding  woman  was  right. 


The  End 


NOVELS   BY   W.   J.    LOCKE 


The  Beloved  Vagabond 

Crown  8to,  68.  p,.„,  Opinitns 

Morning  Post. — "  It  would  not  be  surprising  if  *  BeloTed  Vagabond  ' 
became  tne  favourite  novel  of  the  season.  .  .  .  This  fantastic  and  enlivening 
book." 

Truti. — "  Certainly  it  is  the  most  brilliant  piece  of  work  Mr.  Locke  has 
done." 

Dui/y  Telegraph. — "  Mr.  Locke,  who  has  a  happy  gift  for  characterisation, 
and  who  writes  in  the  easy,  cultured  style  of  the  scholar,  has  been  quite 
successful  in  delineating  his  hero." 

Liverpool  Courier. — "'The  Morals  of  Marcus  Ordcyne  '  was  emphatically 
the  book  of  a  year.  It  was  irresistible.  'The  Beloved  Vagabond  '  is  in 
many  respects  a  better  book.  Mr.  Locke  is  an  artist  in  method  and  in 
style.  English  so  distinguished  and  so  unaffected  as  he  employs  is  a  re- 
freshment to  the  reader,  and  the  spirit  of  the  tale,  with  its  beautiful,  touching 
and  mellow  humanity,  its  wisdom  and  its  poetry,  is  deeply  impressive.  It 
is  a  memorable  book." 

Globe. — "Mr.  Locke's  novel  abounds  in  delightful  dialogue." 

Evening  Standard. — "  Mr.  Locke  can  hardly  fail  to  write  beautifully.  He 
has  not  failed  now." 

'Daily  Graphic. — "There  is  a  distinctive  and  exotic  flavour  about  'The 
Beloved  Vagabond.'     In  cleverness  .  .  .  the  book  is  indefinably  attractive." 

Onlooker. — "In  Mr.  William  Locke  \vc  have  a  novelist  of  rare  distinction 
and  of  unconvential  originality,  gifted  with  a  literary  sense — that  happy  blend 
of  delicacy  of  thought  with  felicity  of  expression — which  promises  to  assure 
him  high  rank  among  contemporary  writers  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Mr.  Locke's  work 
has  a  distinctive  cachet  and  flavour  that  makes  it  worthy  to  rank  among 
the  'belles  lettres  '  of  current  literature.  Mr.  Locke  has  given  us  one  of 
those  rare  books  which  it  will  always  be  a  pleasure  to  take  up  and  read  over 
again  more  than  once." 

fVestminuer  Gazette. — "Mr.  Locke,  like  his  hero  Paragot,  has  'the  divine 
sense  of  humour  which  rainbows  the  tears  of  the  world.'  This  quality  of 
restraint  goes  hand  in  hand  with  Mr.  Locke's  cultured  style,  and  the  com- 
bination gives  a  wonderful  charm  to  his  writing,  for  the  real  power  of  the 
author  is  perfectly  obvious.  It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  create  a  character 
to  follow  Marcus  Ordeyne  and  challenge  comparison.  It  was  even  harder 
to  devise  an  atmosphere  which  could  satisfy  us  as  a  successor  to  that  in  which 
the  philosopher  moved  and  had  his  being.  But  with  '  The  Beloved  Vagabond  ' 
Mr.  Locke  has  triumphed  ;  he  has  given  us  something  entirely  fresh  and 
original,  coloured  with  his  own  personality — a  personality  which  has  a  very 
prominent  position  in  the  ranks  of  modern  novelists." 

Pull  Mall  Gazette. — "  In  two  respects  Mr.  Locke  has  achieved  a  triumph. 
He  has  conceived  a  really  great  character  in  Paragot,  the  brilliant,  fantastic, 
self-indulgent  artist,  and  he  has  told  his  story  of  the  Picaresque  with  all  the 
skill  and  delicate  art  of  the  French  schools,  of  which  he  is  manifestly  a  close 
and  devoted  student  ;  like  the  best  of  his  masters,  Mr.  Locke  has  placed 
character  and  method  before  everything  else,  and  the  result  is  a  delightful 
and  fascinating  book." 


NOVELS    BY   W.   J.   LOCKE 


The    Morals    of 
Marcus  Ordeyne 

Crown   8vO|  68. 


Preis  Opinions 

Truth. — "  Mr.  Locke's  new  novel  is  one  of  the  most  artistic  pieces  of 
work  I  have  met  with  for  many  a  day.  He  tells  his  story  with  just  that 
gentle  ironic  touch  the  subject  requires,  with  altogether  delightful  results." 

xAthenaum. — "Clever  throughout  ...  the  successs  of  the  book  is  the 
figure  of  the  girl  Carlotta." 

Mr.  James  Douglas,  in  Star. — "  This  fascinating  romance." 

Mr.  W.  L,  Courtney,  in  Daily  Telegraph. — "  The  writing  is  so  good  and 
so  clever  and  so  amusing  that  it  affords  a  perpetual  delight,  a  continuous 
stirring  of  the  intellectual  pulse." 

Scotsman. — "  The  literary  charm  is  exquisite  .  .  .  A  delightful  romance." 

Evening  Standard. — "  A  strong,  whimsical,  original  work." 

Mr.  C.  K.  Shorter,  in  Sphere.—"  A  book  which  has  just  delighted  my 
heart." 

Pelican. — "Exceedingly  interesting  and  very  remarkable." 

Saturday  Re-vieiv. — "  Mr.  Locke  has  achieved  something  of  a  new  success. 
The  story  is  unconventional,  it  is  interesting  and  it  is  well  written." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "  A  rare  achievement  ...  a  wholly  delightful 
book." 

World. — "  Mr.  Locke's  masterpiece." 

T>aily  Graphic. — "  Carlotta  is  one  of  the  most  ingeniously  and  ingenuously 
charming  figures  in  modern  fiction." 

Onlooker. — "  Compared  with  the  ordinary  novel  of  to-day  it  distinctly 
stands  out  as  an  original  and  clever  creation,  and  as  a  mere  story  it  is  full  of 
interest  because,  once  again,  it  deals  with  the  passionate  side  of  human 
nature  with  delicacy  and  profound  insight." 

Westminster  Gazette. — "  Mr.  Locke  writes  with  a  very  true  hand  ;  his 
portrait  of  Judith  is  extraordinarily  sympathetic." 


J 


NOVELS    BY    W.    J.    LOCKE 


Derelicts 

Crown   8vo,  6i. 


Press  Opinions 


Daily  Chronicle. — "  Mr.  Locke  tells  his  story  in  a  very  true,  very  moving 
and  very  noble  book.  If  any  one  can  read  the  last  chapter  with  dry  eyes  we 
shall  be  surprised.  'Derelicts'  is  an  impressive  and  important  book. 
Yvonne  is  a  character  that  any  artist  might  be  proud  of." 

Pall  Mall  Ga%ette. — **  An  exceptionally  fine  novel  .  .  .  vigorous  and 
manly.  The  two  chief  characters  are  masterpieces  of  careful  and  sym- 
pathetic delineation.  The  book  abounds  in  original  and  often  dramatic 
situations,  in  the  handling  of  which  the  author  leaves  positively  no  loophole 
for  adverse  criticism.  We  shall  look  forward  with  pleasurable  anticipation 
to  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Locke's  next  book." 

Standard. — "Well  written,  and  with  a  strong  moral  purpose  carefully 
subordinated  to  the  artistic  exigencies  of  a  romance.  *  Derelicts  '  is  worthy 
of  notice  and  well  above  the  average  of  novels." 

fVestminster  Gazette. — "A  story  excellently  told.  Mr.  Locke  writes 
interestingly  and  the  characters  are  all  very  human  and  real.  There  is 
something  very  charming  about  the  sanity  of  his  standpoints.  Mr.  Locke 
is  to  be  thanked  for  a  very  interesting  and  clever  book." 

Book  and  Neivs  Trade  Gazette. — "  A  real  good  book.  Mr.  Locke  has 
written  a  book  which  is  calculated  to  make  the  oldest  reviewer  dream  for  a 
little  while  that  to  be  a  reviewer  is  to  be  an  enviable  person." 

H^hltehall  l^cvlev). — *' Mr.  Locke  has  written  a  book  which  is  bound  to 
be  widely  discussed  and  greatly  admired.  It  is  written  with  directness 
I  .  .  there  is  earnestness  in  every  line  of  it.  The  characters  are  well 
drawn  .  .  .  will  gain  for  its  author  wider  reputation  than  he  has  hitherto 
enjoyed." 

Saturday  Rcvletv. — "The  author  can  draw  a  male  man  and  a  female 
woman  and  can  write  good  English — three  things  less  easy  than  they  sound. 
Moreover,  he  can  make  his  story  interesting.  We  found  the  book  readable 
right  through." 

JVoman. — "  Mr.  Locke  has  done  nothing  beiore  so  good  as  *  Derelicts.' 
It  is  a  fine  book,  written  with  dignity  and  great  strength." 

Liverpool  Mercury. — "The  author's  reputation,  deservcdlygreat  as  it  already 
is,  will  be  enhanced  by  this  most  charming  and  touching  story.  We  have 
nothing  but  commendation  for  this  powerful  and  impressive  work." 

Academy. — "This  is  a  really  fine  novel.  What  strikes  one  as  of  peculiar 
excellence  is  the  skill  with  which  Mr.  Locke  portrays  the  soft  and  sympa- 
thetic nature  of  Yvonne." 


NOVELS    BY   W.   ].    LOCKE 


Idols 


Crown    8vo,   63. 

Preu  Opinions 

Daily  TeUgiapb. — "A  brilliantly-written  and  eminently  readable  btx)k." 

Daily  Mail. — "One  of  the  very  few  distinguiihcd  noTels  of  this  present 
book  season." 

The  Baron  de  B.-W.  in  P««f//.— "The  Baron  strongly  recommends  Mr. 
William  J,  Locke's  '  Idols  '  to  all  novel-readers.  It  is  well  written  ;  no 
time  is  wasted  in  superfluous  descriptions  ;  there  is  no  fine  writing  for  fine 
writing's  sake  5  but  the  story,  the  general  probability  of  which  is  not  to  any 
appreciable  extent  discounted  by  two  improbabilities,  will  absorb  the  reader. 
At  all  events,  it  is  a  novel  thatj  once  taken  up,  cannot  willingly  be  put  down 
until  finished." 

Spectator. — "A  decidedly  powerful  story  with  a  most  ingenious  plot." 

Truth. — "It  is  a  relief  to  turn  to  the  undeniably  powerful  work  that 
marks  Mr.  W.  J.  Locke's  •  Idols. '  A  book  to  be  read,  and  being  read,  to  be 
remembered." 

Outlook. — "The  book  may  be  commended  as  excellent.  It  is  vigorous  and 
extremely  interesting." 

Saturday  Review. — "'Idols'  is  a  remarkable  novel,  Mr.  Locke  has 
shown  before  this  that  he  is  a  thorough  workman.  The  book  is  distinctly 
above  the  average  run  of  novels." 

Fanity  Fair. — "One  of  the  best  novels  that  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
reading  during  the  past  twelve  months— a  novel  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word,  full  of  real  human  passion,  with  characters  that  live  and  curl  them- 
selves round  your  heart  and  stay  there.  Mr.  Locke  has  placed  himself  in 
the  first  rank.  'Idols'  contains  all  the  essentials  of  a  first-class  story. 
The  book  should  send  up  Mr.  Locke's  reputation  by  leaps  and  bounds." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "  A  book  to  be  read  when  one's  mind  is  tired  .  .  . 
a  very  good  book." 

Whitehall  Rei>ie%v. — "Mr.  Locke  has  produced  an  unquestionably  power- 
ful book,  full  of  nervous  force,  individualism,  and  strong  dramatic  conception. 
'Idols  '  is  a  very  remarkable  book,  and  one  which  is  likely  to  cause  no 
little  attention — a  tribute  which  its  merit,  its  strength,  and  originality 
undoubtedly  deserve." 

Globe. — "Mr.  Locke's  'Idols*  must  certainly  rank  among  the  very  best 
of  the  season,  as  a  book  of  considerable  permanent  value." 

Daily  Chronicle. — " « Idols  '  has  interested  us  and  we  read  it  with  no 
inclination  to  skip." 


NOVELS   BY   W.   J.    LOCKE 


The  White  Dove 

Crown    8vo,    63. 

Press   Opinions 

Morning  Tost.—"  It  is  an  interejting  storjr.  The  characters  are  strongly 
ConceiTcd  and  Titidly  presented,  and  the  dramatic  moments  are  powerfully 
realised." 

Literature.—"  Mr.  Locke  writes  well.  ...  He  has  the  seeing  eye  for 
character,  the  capacity  for  emotion.  We  have  nothing  but  praise  to  give 
his  able  character-drawing,  while  the  attitude  of  the  Lanyons— father  and 
son — to  each  other  is  singularly  beautiful  and  touching." 

Star. — •« The  plot-intervention  is  extremely  brilliant,  not  only  in  detail, 
but  in  the  interweaving  of  incidents." 

GrapJiic.—"Mr.  William  J.  Locke's  'The  White  Dove'  has  a  very 
exceptional  claim  to  attention." 

Canity  Fair. — "The  writing  is  good,  showing  fine  descriptive  power,  and 
the  quality  of  quiet  patience  in  the  working  out  of  what  is  really  a  capital 
story." 

Times. — "  An  interesting  story  full  of  dramatic  scenes." 
Scotsman. — "A  moving  tale  of  human  passion  and   a  powerful  study  of 
conduct  and  motive." 

Bookman. — "A  Strong,  tender  and  beautiful  story." 

Author. — "'The  White  Dove'  is  a  clever  and  interesting  book." 

Christian  fVorU. — "A  notable  book  and  one  that  will  take  high  rank. 
The  story  will  appeal  to  the  best  instincts  of  every  reader.  ...  A  book 
that  can  be  honestly  commended  to  everybody." 

Madame. — "  Mr.  Locke  writes  with  force  and  spirit.  The  characterisation 
is  excellent." 

Bookman. — "  In  this  well-written  book  there  are  two  careful  and  clever 
studies." 

Pall  Mali  Gazette. — "  The  characters  in  '  The  White  Dove  '  arc  well 
drawn,  and  the  story  is  well  told." 

'Birmingham  Post. — "The  book  is  well  written.  It  is  also  earnestly 
written.  Mr.  Locke  has  combined  obvious  earnestness  over  his  subject 
with  good  interesting  writing  in  a  most  successful  way.  Some  ot  the  passages 
are  genuinely  beautiful.     The  book  is  one  that  should  be  read." 

Publishers'  Circular. — "  The  story  is  undoubtedly  interesting  and  is  related 
with  great  artistic  judgment  and  skill." 


NOVELS    BY   W.    J.    LOCKE 


The  Usurper 


Crown    8vo,   6s. 

Press  Optnloni 

Daily  Telegraph. — "  Arresting  is  the  right  word  to  apply  to  Mr.  Locke's 
book.  Beyond  all  the  excellence  of  the  characterisation  and  the  interest 
the  story  evokes,  which  makes  it  one  of  the  most  attractive  novels  of  the 
year,  there  is  true  insight  in  dealing  with  several  of  the  problems  of  humanity, 
the  stimulus  to  thought  which  is  alike  rare  and  unforgettable." 

Spectator. — "  Character  and  plot  are  most  ingeniously  wrought,  and  the 
conclusion,  when  it  comes,  is  fully  satisfying.'* 

Times. — "An  impressive  romance." 

Daily  Netvs. — "  An  ingenious  and  readable  story," 

Literature. — "Mr.  Locke  Is  decidedly  one  of  the  most  promising  of  our 
younger  novelists.'' 

Standard. — "The  book  should  be  read,  since  it  is  full  of  good  things." 

Globe. — "  It  is  agreeably  interesting  and  will  have  many  appreciative 
readers.     The  characterisation  is  adequate  throughout." 

Academy. — "A  straightforward  well-told  story.  Mr.  Locke  has  the  gift 
of  handling  melodramatic  situations  delicately." 

Catholic  Herald. — "A  book  to  be  read  and  re-read,  and  placed  near  at 
hand  to  be  taken  up  lovingly  time  and  again." 

World. — "  This  quite  uncommon  novel.  Mr.  Locke  displays  originality 
of  design." 

Gentle-woman. — "  Few  novelists  of  to-day  surpass  Mr.  W.  J.  Locke  in  the 
art  of  portraiture.  There  remains  nothing  but  praise  for  the  book,  which  is 
throughout  full  of  literary  grace,  vivid  scenes  and  real  human  passion." 

Christian  World. — "Mr.  Locke  has  once  more  shown  himself  capable  of 
really  good  work.  He  has  a  Meredithian  manner,  and  a  turn  for  psycho- 
logical situations,  He  has  great  dramatic  ability,  his  colours  are  never 
crude,  and  the  healthy  robustness  of  his  work  is  refreshing." 

Sunday  Sun. — "'Usurper'  is  a  first  book,  and  it  is  one  very  full  indeed 
of  promise.     It  has  vigour  and  freshness  of  style." 

Graphic. — "  A  very  able  and  interesting  novel.  A  work  with  real 
virility  and  backbone  in  it  which  is  infinitely  refreshing  to  read." 

Morning  Post. — "'The  Usurper'  allows  us  to  welcome  it  as  one  of  the 
few  novels  that  '  every  one  should  read.'  " 

St.  James's  Gaxette. — "'The  Usurper,'  like'thejrest  of  its  author's  work, 
is  long,  interesting,  and  well  written.  The  love  story  is  enough  in  itself 
to  make  the  book  remarkable." 


NOVELS   BY   W.   J.    LOCKE 


Where  Love  Is 

Crown   8vo,  68. 

Prett  Opiniont 

Daily  Chrtnlch. — "Mr.  Locke  writes  unaffectedly  and  well  .  .  .  the 
novel  is  excellent.  .  .  .  Mr.  Locke  is  one  of  the  few  who  are  to  be  taken 
seriously,  whose  work  counts." 

Truth. — "A  very  clever  and  interesting  novel." 

Mr.  James  Douglas,  in  Star. — "  I  do  not  often  praise  a  book  with  this 
exultant  gusto,  but  it  gave  me  so  much  spiritual  stimulus  and  moral  pleasure 
that  I  feel  bound  to  snatch  the  additional  delight  of  commending  it  to  those 
readers  who  long  for  a  novel  that  is  a  piece  of  literature  as  well  as  a  piece 
of  life." 

Thnes. — "The  author  has  the  true  gift  :  his  people  are  alive." 

Morning  Post. — "  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  had  such  a  strong 
character  as  Jimmie  Padgate,  the  painter." 

Standard. — "  Must  be  counted  the  best  thing  he  has  done  .  .  .  a  brilliant 
piece  of  work." 

Vanity  Fair. — "  The  most  notable  and  most  lovable  character  in  the 
fiction  of  the  new  century  ...  is  Jimmy.  .  •  .  Jimmy  should  take  his 
place  ...  in  the  great  gallery  of  British  Art." 


At  the  Gate  of  Samaria 

Crown    8vo,  68. 

Presi  Ofinions 

Daily  Chronicle. — "The  heroineof  this  clever  story  attracts  our  interest.  .  .  . 
She  is  a  clever  and  subtle  study.   .  .  .  We  congratulate  Mr.  Locke." 

Vanity  Fair. — "  A  well-written  novel,  whose  characters  seem  '  hewn 
from  life'  and  act  as  men  and  women  really  act.  Mr.  Locke's  book 
deserves  to  be  read,  and  may  be  recommended." 

Sun. — "  Charmingly  written,  and  expresses  much  that  is  both  new  and 
true.  The  scenes  and  characters  are  drawn  with  that  subtle  touch  which 
makes  the  reader  identify  himself  with  their  thoughts  and  lives." 

Morning  Post. — "A  cleverly  written  tale  .  .  .  the  author's  pictures  of 
Bohemian  life  are  bright  and  graphic." 

Scotsman. — "  The  story  never  drags  and  can  be  read  from  end  to  end. 
The  characterisation  is  broad,  human,  and  natural." 


NOVELS    BY   W.   J.    LOCKE 


A  Study  in  Shadows 

Crown   8vo,  6s. 


PRESS  OPINIONS 

Times. — "  In  a  sense  this  novel  is  belated,  being  a  straggler 
from  the  procession  of  books  more  or  less  directly  concerned 
with  the  New  Woman.  This  is  a  pity,  for  it  is  perhaps  the 
best  of  the  novels  that  have  vindicated  or  mocked  at  that 
tiresome  female.  .  .  .  Still  it  may  be  allowed  that  here 
we  meet  with  less  cant,  less  rancour,  less  prurience,  less 
affectation  of  omniscience,  more  genuine  philosophy,  and  a 
more  careful  style  and  more  real  literary  power  than  in  any 
other  novel  of  the  same  school." 

AthmcBum. — "The  character-drawing  is  distinctly  good.  All 
the  personages  stand  out  well  defined  with  strongly  marked 

individualities." 

Literary  World.—"-  A  striking  and  cleverly  written  book." 

Daily  Chronicle. — *'  This  clever  and  somewhat  audacious 
story.  .  .  .  We  congratulate  W.  J.  Locke,  and  shall  be  sur- 
prised if  the  reception  accorded  to  his  book  is  not  such  as  to 
cause  him  to  congratulate  himself.  .  .  .  Mr.  Locke  has 
achieved  a  distinct  success  in  this  novel.  He  has  struck  many 
emotional  chords,  and  struck  them  all  with  a  firm,  sure  hand. 
In  the  relations  with  Katherine  Raine  he  had  a  delicate 
problem  to  handle,  and  he  has  handled  it  delicately." 


The   Demagogue 
and  Lady  Phayre 

Crown   8vo,   3s.   6d. 


John  Lane,  The  Bodley  Head,  Vigo  St.,  London,  W. 


NEW    FICTION 


According  to  Maria 

By  Mrs.  John  Lane,  Author  of  "The  Champagne  Stan- 
dard." "  Kitwyk,"  &c.  With  lo  Illustrations  and  a  Cover 
Design  by  J.  W.  Gofton.     Crown  8vo,  6s. 

"According  to  Maria"  has  all  the  witty  and  wise 
characteristics  which  made  "The  Champagne  Standard"  one 
of  the  most  fascinating  books  of  the  season.  It  has  even  more, 
for  besides  its  sparkling  wit  a  charming  love  story  runs 
through  the  book.  It  deals  with  Maria's  life  and  her  social 
aspirations,  and  the  love  story  of  Diana — her  only  child — 
is  deftly  woven  through  the  chapters  dealing  with  familiar 
society  functions  and  episodes,  such  as  Afternoon  Calls,  At 
Homes,  Wedding  Presents,  On  Choosing  a  Church,  Charity 
Concerts  and  Bazaars,  the  Royal  Academy,  and  Prince's 
Skating  Rink.  Maria's  delightful,  unconscious  humour  per- 
vades the  whole  book  ;  and,  indeed,  each  chapter  bubbles 
over  with  the  fun  and  amusing  cynicism  which  is  associated 
with  the  author's  work. 


The  Way  Up 


A  Novel  by  M.  P.  Willcocks,  Author  of  "A  Man  of  Genius," 
"  The  Wingless  Victory  "  and  "  Widdicombe."  Crown  8vo, 
6s. 

Michael  Strode,  the  ironmaster,  who  is  the  central  figure  of 
Miss  Willcocks's  new  novel,  devotes  his  life  to  the  work  of 
showing  the  Way  Out  of  the  economic  jungle  of  poverty  by 
means  of  co-operative  production  ;  he  is  prepared  to  sacrifice 
everything  :  he  is  a  fanatic,  possessed  by  an  idea.  But  Strode 
the  thinker  is  also  Strode  the  man,  bound  by  closest  ties  to  a 
woman  of  the  oldest  type  in  the  world.  The  siren  refuses  to 
lend  either  her  money  or  herself  to  further  his  scheme.  The 
novel  is  one,  therefore,  that  touches  three  burning  questions  of 
the  hour— capital  and  labour,  the  claims  of  the  individual 
against  those  of  the  State,  the  right  of  a  woman  to  her  own 
individuality.  In  the  clash  of  passion  and  duty,  blow  follows 
blow,  revelation  succeeds  revelation,  till  the  wrappings  that 
shroud  reality  are  stripped  from  it  and  both  dreamers  awake, 
but  to  what  reality  must  be  read  in  the  pages  of  the  book  itself, 
which,  besides  being  a  picture  of  a  group  of  modem  men  and 
women,  is  also  a  study  of  certain  social  tendencies  of  to-day 
and  possibly  to-morrow. 


The  New  Pocket  Library 

Printed  from  clear  type,  upon  a  thin  and  opaque 
paper  specially  manufactured  for  the  Series.  Pott 
8vo,  6x3!  inches.  Price,  bound  in  Cloth, 
IS.   net;    Leather,    2S.    net.     Postage    3d.    extra. 


By  the   E&rl   of 
Be&consfield 

Sybil 

Tancred 

Venctia 

Contarini  Fleming 

Coningsby 

Henrietta  Temple 

Vivian  Grey 

The  Young  Duke,  etc. 

Alroy,  &c. 

By  George  Borrow 

Lavengro 
The  Romany  Rye 
The  Bible  in  Spain 
The  Zincali 
Wild  Wales 

By    Henry  Brooke 

A  Fool  of  Quality  (2  vols.) 

By   George   Eliot 

Adam  Bede 
Scenes  of  Clerical  Life 
The  Mill  on  the  Floss 
Silas  Marner 

By  Edward   Fitzgerald 

Euphranor 


By  Nathaniel   Hawthorne 

The  Scarlet  Letter 
The  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables 

By   Herman   Melville 

Typee 
Omoo 

By   Captain   Marryat 

Mr.  Midshipman  Easy 
Peter  Simple 
The  King's  Own 
The  Phantom  Ship 

By  Anthony  Trollope 

Dr.  Thome 
The  Warden 
Barchester  Towers 
Framley  Parsonage 
The  Bertrams 
The  Three  Clerks 
Castle  Richmond 
The  MacDermonts  of 

Ballycloran 
Orley  Farm  (a  vols.) 
Rachel  Ray 
The  Kellys  and  the 

O'Kellys 
The  Small  House  at 

AUington  (2  vols.) 
Can  You  Forgive  Her  ? 

(2  vols.) 


John  Lane,  The  Bodley  Head,  Vigo  St.,  London,  W, 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 
BY   ARTHUR  H.   ADAMS. 

GALAHAD   JONES.  A  Tragic  Farce.         Crown  8vo.         6/- 

With  i6  iiiU-page  Illustrations  by  Norman  Lindsay. 

*»*  Galahad  Jones  is  a  middle-aged  banic  clerk,  with  a  family.  One  day,  on 
his  way  home,  a  letter  falls  to  his  feet  from  the  balcony  of  a  house  he  is  passing. 
It  is  addressed  "To  You,"  and  on  reading  it  he  discovers  that  he  is  requested 
to  meet  the  writer  in  the  garden  of  the  house  at  lo  o'clocli  that  night.  In  a  spirit 
of  knight-errantry,  he  decides  to  do  so,  and  learns  that  the  writer  — a  young  gif  1  — 
is  kept  practically  in  prison  by  her  father,  because  of  her  affection  for  a  man  of 
whom  he  does  not  approve.  The  chivali-y  of  Galahad  Jones  plunges  him  into 
many  difficulties,  and  leads  to  some  very  awkward  and  e.xtremely  amusing 
situations. 

BY   FRANCIS  ADAMS. 

A   CHILD   OF   THE    AGE.  Crown  8vo.  i/- 

Pall  Mall  Gazette — "  It  comes  recognisably  near  to  great  excellence.  There  is 
a  love  episode  in  this  book  which  is  certainly  fine.  Clearly  conceived  and 
expressed  with  point. 

BY  JEAN    AICARD. 

THE  DIVERTLVG  ADVENTURES  OF  MAURIN.    Cr.  8vo.    6/- 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Alfred  AUinson,  M.A. 

H'es/ininstcr  Gazette — Maurin,  hunter,  poacher,  boaster,  and  lover  of  women, 
is  a  magnificently  drawn  type  of  the  Meridional,  who  is  in  some  ways  the  Irishman 
of  France.  .  .  .  a  fine,  sane,  work.  .  .  .  The  translation  is  excellent." 

Morning  Leader—'''  Indubitably  laughable.  An  encyclopaedia  of  the  best 
form  of  foolishness." 

MAURIN   THE    ILLUSTRIOUS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Alfred  Allinson,  M.A. 

Evening  Standard — "If he  had  never  done  anything  else  M.  Aicard  would 
have  earned  his  seat  in  the  French  Academy  by  his  creation  of  Maurin.  For 
Maurin  is  an  addition  to  the  world's  stock  of  fictional  characters — to  that  picture 
gallery  where  no  restOJer  is  ever  wanted." 

BY  GRANT  ALLEN. 

THE    BRITISH    BARBARIANS.  Crown  Svo.  3/6 

Also  Canvas  Back   1/6 

Saturday  Rcvieio — "  Mr.  Allen  takes  occasion  to  say  a  good  many  things  that 
require  saying,  and  suggests  a  good  many  reforms  that  would,  if  adopted,  bring 
our  present  legal  code  more  into  harmony  with  modern  humanity  and  the 
exigencies  of  its  development." 

BY   MAUDE   ANNESLEY. 

THE   WINE   OF    LIFE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Pall  Mall  Gazette—"  The  story  is  full  of  life  and  interest  and  the  startling 
denouement  ie  led  up  to  wiili  considerable  skill." 

THE   DOOR   OF    DARKNESS.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Pall  Mall  Gazette—"  An  enthralling  story,  powerfully  imagined  and  distin- 
guished for  artistry  of  no  mean  order." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

ANONYMOUS. 

ELIZABETH'S   CHILDREN.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  Telegraph— The  book  is  charming  .  .  .  the  author  .  .  .  has  a  delicate 
lanciful  touch,  a  charming  imagination  .  .  .  skilfully  suggests  character  and 
moods  ...  is  bright  and  witty,  and  writes  about  children  with  exquisite  know- 
ledge and  sympathj'." 

HEl-EN   ALLISTON.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

By  the  author  of  "  Elizabeth's  Children." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette — "  The  book  has  vivacity,  fluency,  colour,  more  than  a  touch 
of  poetry  and  passion.  .  .  ,  We  shall  look  forward  with  interest  to  future  work 
by  the  author  of '  Helen  AUiston.'  " 

THE   YOUNG   O'BRIENS. 

By  the  author  of  "  Elizabeth's  Children,"  and  "  Helen  Alliston." 
Saturday    Revieiv — "  Delightful    .    .    .    the  author  treats  them  (the  Young 
O'Briens)  very  skilfully." 

THE    MS.    IN   A   RED   BOX.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Speaker —  'It  is  that  rarest  and  most  welcome  of  works,  a  good  romance  of 
pure  fiction.  .  .  .  The  use  made  of  local  colour  and  historical  incident  is  one  of 
the  author's  unknown  triumphs.  ...  In  these  respects  ...  it  is  the  best  novel 
that  has  appeared  since  '  Lorna  Doone.'  One  of  the  most  exciting  books  of  its 
own  kind  that  we  have  ever  read." 

BY   W.   M.  ARDAGH. 

THE    MAGADA.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Pall  Mall  Gazelle — "  'The  Magada'  is  a  store-house  of  rare  and  curious  learn- 
ing ...  it  is  a  well-written  and  picturesque  story  of  high  adventure  and  deeds 
of  derring-do." 

Observer— ^'■T\\&  book  has  admirably  caught  the  spirit  of  romance." 
Daily  Chrotticlc — "'The   Magada'  is    a   fine  and   finely   told   story,  and   we 
congratulate  Mr.  Ardagh." 

BY   GERTRUDE   ATHERTON. 

SENATOR   NORTH.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Ncw  York  Herald— '■'■  In  the  description  of  Washington  life  Mrs.  Atherton. 
shows  not  only  a  very  considerable  knowledge  of  externals,  but  also  an  insight 
into  the  underlying  political  issues  that  is  remarkable." 

Outlook — "The  novel  has  genuine  historical  value." 

THE   ARISTOCRATS.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Also  in  paper  boards,  cloth  back,  at  i/6. 

The  Times  — "  Clever  and  entertaining.  .  .  .  This  gay  volume  is  written  by 
some  one  with  a  pretty  wit,  an  eye  for  scenery,  and  a  mind  quick  to  grasp  natural 
as  well  as  individual  characteristics.  Her  investigations  into  the  American 
character  are  acute  as  well  as  amusing." 

THE    DOOMSWOMAN.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Morning  Post—''  A  fine  drama,  finely  conceived  and  finely  executed. 
^//zf;ia«>«— "Eminently  picturesque  .  .  .  gorgeous  colouring." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY    GERTRUDE    ATHERTON -co»»/;«»cy/. 
A   WHIRL   ASUNDER.  Paper  Cover.  i/- 

Bvs/aiidcr—"  It  can  be  recommended  as  a  fine  romcnce.  .  .  .  There  is  plenty 
of  incident."  .  .  ,       ,  ,         .  , 

Outiook— "The  story  is  a  curious  achievement  in  the  violently  and  crudely 
picturesque  style  that  is  peculiar  to  the  author  writer." 

BY  ARNOLD   BENNETT 

A    MAN    FROM    THE    NORTH.  Crown  8vo.  3/6 


Black  and  IVIiite—"  A  work  that  will  come  to  the  jaded  novel  reader  as  a 
splendid  surprise." 

Daily  Chronicle—"  Admirably  fresh  and  brisk,  vibrating  with  a  wild,  young 
ecstasy.'' 

BY   EX-LIEUTENANT   BILSE. 

LIFE    IN    A    GARRISON    TOWN.  Crown  8vo.  i/- 

The  suppressed  German  Novel.     With  a  preface  written  by  the 
author  whilst  in  London,  and  an  introduction  by  Arnold  White. 

7-^,<//,_"'f  he  disgraceful  exposures  of  the  book  were  expressly  admitted  to 
be  true  by  the  Minister  of  War  in  the  Reichstag.  What  the  book  will  probably 
suggest  to  you  is.  that  German  militarism  is  cutting  its  own  throat,  and  will  one 
day  be  hoist  with  its  own  petard." 

BY   SHELLAND   BRADLEY. 

EXPERIENCES    OF   AN    A.D.C.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

VVeslmiii.slcr  Gaztite—"  .  .  .  makes  better  and  more  entertaining  reading 
than  nine  out  ot  every  ten  novels  of  the  d  ay.  .  .  .  Those  who  know  nothing  about 
Anglo-Indian  social  life  will  be  as  well  entertained  by  this  story  as  those  who 
know  everything  about  it." 

Times—"  Full  of  delightful  humour." 

BY  JOHN   BUCHAN. 

JOHN    BURNET   OF    B.\RNS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Trulh— "In  short,  this  is  a  novel  to  lay  aside  and  read  a  second  time,  nor 
should  we  forget  the  spirited  snatches  of  song  which  show  that  the  winner  of  the 
Newdigate  has  the  soul  of  the  poet." 

A   LOST    LADY    OF    OLD   YEARS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Athcnoeiitn—"  Written  in  strong  and  scholarly  fashion." 
Morning  Fast—"  We  have  nothing  but  praise  for  Mr.  Buchan.       The  book 
ol  sterling  merit  and  sustained  interest." 

Evening  Standard — "Stirring  and  well  told." 

BY   GILBERT   K-   CHESTERTON. 

THE    NAPOLEON    OF    NOTTING    HILL.         Crown  Svo.        6/- 

With  6  Illustrations  by  W.  Graham  Robertson. 

Daily  Matl—"  Mr.  Chesterton,  as  our  laughing  philosopher,  is  at  his  best  in 
this  delTghtful  fantasy." 

IVeslniinslcr  Gazelle—"  It  is  undeniably  clever.  It  scintillates  that  is  ex.-ictly 
the  right  word— with  bright  and  epigrammatic  observations,  and  it  is  written 
througliout  with  undoubted  literary  skill." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY  T.   B.   CLEGG. 

THE    LOVE   CHILD.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Truth — "  A  singularly  powerful  book.  .  .  .  The  painful  story  grips  you  from 
first  to  last." 

Daily  Telegraph — "A  strong  and  interesting  story,  the  fruit  of  careful 
thought  and  conscientious  workmanship.  .  .  .  Mr.  Clegg  has  presented  intensely 
dramatic  situations  without  letting  them  degenerate  into  the  melodramatic." 

THE   WILDERNESS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  Telegraph — "  A  really  admirable  story." 

Athenaum — "Mr.  Clegg  claims  the  gift  of  powerful  and  truthful  writing." 

THE   BISHOP'S   SCAPEGOAT.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Athcnoeum — "  Inspired  with  a  deep  sense  of  the  beautiful  in  Nature  and  the 
instinctive  goodness  of  the  human  heart,  and  the  divine  meaning  of  life." 

Daily  Mail — "A  really  good  novel.  It  is  so  good  that  we  hope  Mr.  Clegg 
will  give  us  some  more  from  the  same  store." 

JOAN    OF   THE    HILLS.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Times — "Another  of  Mr.  Clegg's  admirable  novels  of  Australian  life." 
Globe — "A  good  story,  interesting  all  through." 

BY  FREDERICK   BARON   CORYO. 

IN    HIS   OWN    IMAGE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

IVestminsicr  Gazette — "The  book  is  cleverly  written  and  the  author  has 
obviously  a  very  pretty  literary  talent." 

Pall  Mall  Gaselte—'^  Always  delightful  and  well  worth  reading." 

BY   YICTORIA  CROSS. 

THE   WOMAN   WHO    DIDN'T.  Crown  8vo.  i/- 

Speaker — "The  feminine  gift  of  intuition  seems  to  be  developed  with  uncanny 
strength,  and  what  she  sees  she  has  the  power  of  flashing  upon  her  readers  with 
wonderful  vividness  and  felicity  of  phrase.  ...  A  strong  and  subtle  study  of 
feminine  nature,  biting  irony,  restrained  passion,  and  a  style  that  is  both  forcible 
and  polished." 

BY  A.  J.  DAWSON. 

MIDDLE   GREYNESS.     (Canvas-back  Library).  i/6 

Daily  Telegraph— ''Th&  novel  has  distinct  ability.  The  descriptions  of  up- 
country  manners  are  admirable." 

MERE   SENTIMENT  Crown  Svo.  3/6 

Pall  Mall  Gazette—'' There  is  some  clever  writing  in  Mr.  Dawson's  short 
stories  collected  to  form  a  new  '  Keynotes  '  volume  under  the  title  of  Mere  Senti- 
ment." ...    A  very  clever  piece  of  work.  .  .  .      Mr.  Dawson  has  a  pretty  style 
.  .  .  Shows  dramatic  instinct." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 
BY   GEORGE   EGERTON. 

KEYNOTES.  Crown  8vo.  3/(3  net.  Ninth  Edition. 

SI.  Jntness  Gazeltf—"  This  is  a  collection  of  eight  of  the  prettiest  short 
stories  that  have  appeared  lor  many  a  day.  They  turn  for  the  most  part  on 
feminine  trails  of  character  ;  in  fact,  the  book  is  a  little  psychological  study  of 
woman  under  various  circumstances.  The  characters  are  so  admirably  drawn, 
and  the  scenes  and  landscapes  are  described  with  so  much  and  so  rare  vividness, 
that  we  cannot  help  being  almost  spell-bound  by  their  perusal." 

DISCORDS.  Crown  8vo.  3/6  net.  Sixth  Edition. 

Duiiv  Telegraph— "These  masterly  word-sketches." 

Speaker—"  TTie  book  is  true  to  human  nature,  for  the  author  has  genius,  and 
let  us  add,  has  heart.  It  is  representative  ;  it  is,  in  the  hackneyed  phrase, 
a  human  document." 

SYMPHONIES.  Crown  8vo.  6/-  net.  Second  Edition. 

St.  James's  Gnst7/i#— "There  is  plenty  of  pathos  and  no  little  power  in  the 
volume  before  us." 

Daily  Netvs — "  The  impressionistic  descriptive  passages  and  the  human 
touches  that  abound  in  the  book  lay  hold  of  the  imagination  and  linger  in  the 
memory  of  the  reader." 

FANTASIAS.         Crown  8vo.        3/6  net.        Canvas  back,  1/6  net. 

Daily  C/irouick— "These  '  Fantasias  '  are  pleasant  reading— typical  scenes  or 
tales  upon  the  poetry  and  prose  of  life,  prostitution,  and  the  beauty  of  dreams 
and  truth." 

BY  A.   C.   FOX   DAYIES. 

THE    D.\NGERVILLE    INHERITANCE.         Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Second  Edition. 

Morning  Post—"  Mr.  Fox-Davies  has  written  a  detective  story  of  which 
Gaboriau  might  have  been  proud." 

Daily  Telegraph—"  The  story  is  one  that,  once  begun,  must  be  finished." 

THE   MAULEVERER    MURDERS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Also   i/-  net. 

Evening  Staruiarti—"  An  entertaining  blend  of  the  Society  novel  and  the 
detective  story." 

lycstmiuster  Ga£etU—"'We  heartily  recommend  this  book  for  a  holiday  or  a 
railway  journey.    An  exciting  and  ingenious  tale." 

THE    FINANCES   OF   SIR    JOHN   KYNNERSLEY. 

Crown  Svo.  6/— 

Puiicl^—"  I  read  every  word  of  the  book,  and  enjoyed  nearly  all  of  them."  _ 
Morning  Post — "  Mr.  Fox-Davies'  extremely  clever  and  entertaining  book." 

BY   HAROLD   FREDERIC. 

MARCH    HARES.  Crown  8vo.  3/6.  Third  Edition. 

Dmly  Chronicle—"  Buoyant,  fanciful,  stimulating,  a  pure  creation  of  fancy 
and  high  spirits.  '  March  Hares'  has  a  joyous  impetus  which  carries  everything 
before  it ;  and  it  enriches  a  class  of  fiction  which  unfortunately  is  not  copious." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY   HAROLD   FREDERIC— conthmcd. 
MRS.    ALBERT   GRUNDY.     Observations  in  Philistia. 

F'Cap.  8vo.  3/6.  Second  Edition. 

Pail  Mali  Gazette — "  Mr.  Frederic  is  at  his  very  best  in  this  light  and  delicate 
satire,  which  is  spread  with  laughter  and  good  humour." 

BY   RICHARD  GARNETT. 

THE   TWILIGHT   OF   THE    GODS   AND   OTHER    STORIES 

Crown  8vo.  6/-  Second  Edition. 

Daily  Chronicle — "  A  subtle  compound  of  philosophy  and  irony.  Let  the 
reader  take  these  stories  as  pure  fun — lively  incident  and  droll  character — and  he 
will  be  agreeably  surprised  to  find  how  stimulating  they  are."     /■ 

Times — "  Here  is  learning  in  plenty,  drawn  from  all  a2;es  and  most  languages, 
but  of  dryness  or  dulness  not  a  sentence.  The  book  bubbles  with  laughter.  .  .  . 
His  sense  of  humour  has  a  wide  range." 

BY  ELIZABETH   GODFREY. 

THE   WINDING    ROAD.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Literary  World — "A  carefully  written  story.  .  .  .  Miss  Godfrey  has  the  mind 
of  a  poet;"her  pages  breathe  ot  the  beautiful  in  nature  without  giving  long 
description,  while  the  single-hearted  love  between  Jasper  and  Phenice  is  des- 
cribed with  power  and  charm." 

THE    BRIDAL   OF   ANSTACE.  Crown  Bvo.  6/- 

Westmiiister  Gazette— '■^  P^n  individual  charm  and  a  sympathetic  application 
have  gone  to  the  conception  of  Miss  Godfrey's  book,  a  remarkable  power  of 
characterisation  to  its  making,  and  a  refined  literary  taste  to  its  composition." 

Truth — "  Charmingly  told.  ...  A  story  in  which  your  interest  gains  and 
deepens  from  the  beginning." 

THE    CRADLE   OF   A   POET.  Crown  Bvo.  6/- 

***  The  poet  is  a  product  of  the  stone  quarry  region  of  Dorsetshire,  and  the 
story  concerns  itself  with  his  development  aad  a  conflict  between  ancient  traditioa 
and  modern  spirit. 

BY  A.  R.   GORING  THOMAS. 

MRS.    GRAMERCY   PARK.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

ffo/W—"  In  the  language  of  the  heroine  herself  this,  her  story,  is  delight- 
fully 'bright  and  cute.'  " 

Observer — "  Fresh  and  amusing." 

BY  HANDASYDE. 

FOR   THE   WEEK-END.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Standard—'''-  Only  a  woman,  surely,  would  write  such  deep  and  intimate 
truth  about  the  heart  of  another  woman  and  the  things  that  give  her  joy  whea  a 
man  loves  her." 

A  GIRL'S  LIFE  IN  A  HUNTING  COUNTRY.    Crown  Bvo.    3/6 

Daily  News — "A  sweet  and  true  representation  of  a  girl's  romance." 
Scotsman — "  There  are  some  admirable  character  sketches  in  the  book  and  a 

lot   of  quaint   philosophy,   whimsical   thoughts   and   quoted  verse,  all  of  which 

should  greatly  entertain  the  reader." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 
BY   HENRY   HARLAND. 

THE   CARDINALS   SNUFF    BOX.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Illustrated  by  G.  C.  Wilmhurst.  165th.   Thousand. 

x4ca«/*»i>'— "The  drawings  are  all  excellent  in  style  and  really  illustrative  ot 
the  tale." 

Saturday  Review— ^'VihoWy  delightful." 
Patl  Mall  Gazelle—"  Dainty  and  delicious." 
Times — "  A  book  among  a  thousand." 
Spectalor — "A  charming  romance." 

MY   FRIEND    PROSPERO.       Crown  8vo.       6/-     Third  Edition. 

Times—"  There  is  no  denying  the  charm  of  the  work,  the  delicacy  and 
fragrancy  of  the  style,  the  sunny  play  of  the  dialogue,  the  vivacity  of  the  wit,  and 
the  graceful  flight  of  the  fancy.  ' 

kVorUi — "The  reading  ot  it  is  a  pleasure  rare  and  unalloyed." 

THE    LADY    PARAMOUNT.    Crown  8vo.     6/-    55th  Thousand. 

7"<»ifs— "  A  fantastic,  delightful  love-idyll." 

Spectator — "A  roseate  romance    without  a  crumpled  rose  leaf." 

Daily  Mail — "  Channing,  dainty,  delightful." 

COMEDIES   AND   ERRORS.     Crown  Svo.     6/-     Third  Edition. 

Mr.  Henry  James,  in  Fortnis/illy  Review — "Mr.  Harland  has  clearly  thought 
out  a  form.  .  .  .  He  has  mastered  a  method  and  learned  how  to  paint.  .  ..  Hi3 
art  is  all  alive  with  felicities  and  delicacies." 

GREY    ROSES.  Crown  Svo.  3/6  Fourth  Edition. 

Daily  Telegrabh—"  '  Grey  Roses  '  "  are  entitled  to  rank  among  the  choicest 
flowers  of  the  realms  of  romance." 

Spectator—"  Really  delightful.  '  Castles  near  Spain  '  is  as  near  perfection  as 
it  could  well  be." 

Daily  Chronicle — "  Charming  stories,  simple,  full  of  freshness." 

MADEMOISELLE    MISS.         Crown  Svo.        3/6       Third  Edition. 

Speaker — "  All  through  the  book  we  are  pleased  and  entertained." 
Bookman — "An  interesting  collection  of  early  work.       In  it  may  be  noted  the 
undoubted  delicacy  and  strength  of  Mr.  Harland  s  manner." 

BY  ALICE   HERBERT. 

THE   MEASURE   OF   OUR   YOUTH.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Evening  Standard— "  A.  very  human,  intelligible  book.  .  .  .  exceedingly 
clever  and  earnestly  real." 

Morning  Post — "  Reveals  an  unusual  clearness  of  vision  and  distinction  of 
Style  and  thought." 

BY  MURIEL   HINE. 

HALF   IN   EARNEST.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

*,*  Derrick  Kilmarney,  the  secretary  of  a  famous  politician,  is  a  young  man 
with  the  disposition  to  take  the  best  that  life  oflfers  him,  and  skirk  the  respon- 
sibilities. He  falls  in  love  with  a  girl  but  shudders  at  the  idea  ot  the  bondage  of 
marriage.  His  love  is  emancipated,  unfettered.  He  is  ambitious,  politically, 
allows  himself  to  become  entangled  with  his  chief's  wife,  and  is  too  indolent  to 
break  with  her  even  in  justice  to  the  girl  he  loves.  Eventually  there  comes  a 
time  when  all  the  threads  have  to  be  gathered  together,  when  love  has  to  be 
weighed  with  ambition,  and  in  Kilmarney's  case  the  denouement  is  unexpected 
and  startling. 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY   ARNOLD   HOLCOMBE. 

THE   ODD   MAN.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Morniiis;  Post — "  One  of  the  most  refreshing  and  amusing  books  that  we  have 
read  for  some  months.  ...  '  The  Odd  Man '  is  a  book  to  put  on  one's  shelves 
and  Mr.  Holcombe's  is  a  name  to  remember." 

Times — "  A  clever  and  competent  piece  of  work." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette— "The  brightness,  spontaneity,  and  constant  flow  of  its 
humour  make  '  The  Odd  Man  '  a  feast  of  fun." 

BY  WILFRID  SCARBOROUGH  JACKSON. 

NINE    POINTS   OF   THE   LAW.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Manchester  Guardian — "The  kindly  humorous  philosophy  of  this  most  divert- 
ing story  is  as  remarkable  as  its  attractive  style.  There  is  hardly  a  page  without 
something  quotable,  some  neat  bit  of  phrasing  or  apt  wording  of  a  truth." 

HELEN   OF   TROY.     N.Y.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  C/ironicle—^' The  story  is  at  once  original,  impossible,  artificial,  and 
very  amusing.    Go,  get  the  work  and  read." 

Evening  Standard—"  There  is  a  rollicking  yet  plausible  tone  that  carries  the 
reader  along." 

TRIAL   BY   MARRIAGE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Globc—"  Written  with  all  Mr.  Jackson's  simple,  unafifected  charm." 

World  "  One  can  confidently  promise  the  reader  of  this  skilfully  treated  and 
unconventional  novel  that  he  will  not  find  a  page  of  it  dull.  It  is  one  that  will  be 
not  only  read  but  remembered." 

BY  MRS.  JOHN   LANE. 

KITWYK.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

A    Story    with     numerous    illustrations     by    Howard     Pyle, 
Albert  Sterner  and  George  Wharton  Edwards. 

Times — "  Mrs.  Lane  has  succeeded  to  admiration,  and  chiefly  by  reason  of 
being  so  much  interested  in  her  theme  that  she  makes  no  conscious  effort  to 
please.  .  .  .  Everyone  who  seeks  to  be  diverted  will  read  '  Kitwyk '  for  its 
obvious  qualities  of  entertainment." 

THE   CHAMPAGNE   STANDARD.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Morning  Post—"  The  author's  champagne  overflows  with  witty  sayings  too 
numerous  to  cite." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette—"  Mrs.  Lane's  papers  on  our  social  manners  and  foibles  are 
the  most  entertaining,  the  kindest  and  the  truest  that  have  been  offered  us  for  a 
longtime.  .  .  .  The  book  shows  an  airy  philosophy  that  will  render  it  of  service 
to  the  social  student." 

Athenceutn — "  Mrs.  Lane  treats  each  subject  with  such  freshness  and  origi- 
nality that  the  work  is  as  entertaining  as  it  is  suggestive." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY    MRS.    JOHN    LA^E— continued. 
ACCORDINC.    TO    MARIA.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Dailv  Teii!,'ra/>h—"  A  more  entertaining,  companionable,  good-natured,  and 
yet  critical  piece  of  portraiture  we  have  not  nad  the  pood  luck  to  encounter  these 
manj  seasons.  .  .  .  'According  to  Maria'  is  as  fresh,  amusing,  and  human  a 
book  as  any  man,  woman,  or  girFcould  desire  to  bewitch  a  jaded  moment,  or  drive 
away  a  fit  of  the  dumps.  " 

Uhscrz'er—" The  world  'according  to  Maria  '  is  a  most  diverting  place.  She 
is  a  delight,  and  must  be  secured  at  once  for  every  home." 

Ddify  CAro;nW<r— "Thisdeliphlful  novel,  sparkling  with  humour.  .  .  .  Maria's 
world  is  real.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Lane  is  remarkably  true  to  life  in  thatworld.  .  .  .  Maria 
is  priceless,  and  Mrs.  Lane  is  a  satirist  wh<»6e  life  may  be  indefaiigably  joyous  in 
satiric  art.  For  her  eyes  harvest  the  little  absurdities,  and  her  hand  makes 
sheaves  of  them.  .  .  .  Thackeray  might  have  made  such  sheaves  if  he  had  been 
a  woman." 

BALTHASAR    AXD   OTHER    STORIES.  Crown  8vo.         6/- 

Translated  by  Mrs.  JOHW  Lane  from  the  French  of  Anatole  France 

Ddiiy  Graphic— "The  original  charm  and  distinction  of  the  author's  style  has 
survived  the  clifiScult  ordeal  of  appearing  in  another  language.  .  .  .  'The  Cure's 
Mignonette"  is  as  perfect  in  itself  as  some  little  delicate  flower." 

Globe — "  Every  oue  of  them  is  interesting." 

BY   RICHARD   LE   GALLIENNE. 

THE    BOOK    BILLS   OF    NARCISSUS.  Crown  8vo.  3/6 

Second  Edition. 

Daily  Chronicle— "  One  of  the  most  winsome  volumes— winsome  is  surely  the 
one  epilliet — which  have  so  far  been  given  to  us  during  the  last  decade  of  a  dying 
century." 

C.  di  B.  (Mr.  BernErd  Shaw)  iu  the  Star—"  Ifan  unusuallvfine  literary  instinct 
could  make  it  a  solid  book,  Mr.  le  Gallienne  would  be  at  no  loss  for  an  enduring 
reputation  .  .  .  Nothing  could  be  prettier  than  his  pleas  and  persuasions  on 
benalf  of  Narcissus  and  George  Muncaster." 

THE   WORSHIPPER   OF   THE    IMAGE.         Crown  8vo.         3/6 

Daily  C/iro/ziV/*— "Contains  passages  of  a  poignancy  which  Mr.  Le  Gallienne 
has  never  before  compassed." 

THE    QUEST   OF   THE    GOLDEX    GIRL.  Cr.  8vo.  6/- 

Fifteenth  Edition. 

Daily  Netvs—"  A  piece  of  literary  art  which  compels  our  admiration." 
Mr.  Max  Beerbohin  in  Z)ai'/v  .VaiV— "  Mr.  Le  Gallienne's  eentle,  high  spirits, 
and  his  sympathy  with  existe'nce  is  exhibited  here.  .  .  .  His  poetry,  like  his 
humour,  suffuses  the  whole  book  and  gives  a  charm  to  the  most  prosaic  objects 
and  incidents  of  life.  .  .  .  The  whole  book  is  delightful,  for  this  reason,  that  no 
one  else  could  have  written  a  book  ol  the  same  kind." 

THE    ROMANCE   OF   ZION   CHAPEL.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

^"""""""""^"""^"^""""""^^"^"""""^"^        Second  Edition. 

St.  James's  Gasettf—"  Mr.  Le  Gallienne's  masterpiece." 

Times—"  Extremely  clever  and  pathetic.  As  for  sentiment  Dickens  might 
have  been  justly  proud  of  poor  Jenny's  lingering  death,  and  readers  whose  hearts 
have  the  mastery  over  their  heads  will  certainly  weep  over  it," 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY  RICHARD   LE  GALLIEHHE— continued. 

PAINTED   SHADOWS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Scolsnian—"  Material  and  workmanship  are  of  the  finest." 

Queen—"  Really  delightful  stories,  Mr.  Le  Gallienne  writes  prose  like  a  poet." 

LITTLE    DINNERS   WITH    THE   SPHINX.  Cr.  8vo.         6/- 

Duily  Telegraph—"  Here  is  the  same  delicate  phrasing,  the  same  tender  revela- 
tion ofemotio'nsj  always  presented  with  a  daintiness  of  colouring  that  reveals  the 
true  literary  artist." 

Star—"  Mr.  Le  Gallienne  touches  with  exquisite  tenderness  on  the  tragedy  of 
things  that  change  and  pass  and  fade." 

BY  A.   E.   J.   LEGGE. 

MUTINEERS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Speakcr — "  An  interesting  story  related  with  admirable  lucidity  and  remark- 
able grasp  of  character.     Mr.  Legge  writes  with  polish  and  grace." 

Literary  World— "  K  novel  sure  to  win  applause.  .  .  .  'Mutineers'  can 
safely  be  recommended  as  a  novel  well  constructed  and  well  written.  It  gave  us 
two  pleasant  hours." 

BOTH    GREAT   AND    SMALL.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Sntiirday  Review—"  We  read  on  and  on  with  increasing  pleasure." 

Times—"  The  style  of  this  book  is  terse  and  witty." 

Spectator—"  Full  of  quiet  and  clever  observation  and  written  with  a  good  deal 
of  descriptive  talent." 

THE    FORD.  Crown  Svo.  6/-  Second  Edition. 

Standard— "  An  impressive  work  .  .  .  clever  and  thoughtful.  'The  Ford,' 
deserves  to  be  largely  read." 

Mr.  James  Douglas,  in  Star—"  It  is  full  of  finely  phrased  wit  and  costly  satire. 
It  is  modern  in  its  handling,  and  it  is  admirably  written." 

BY   W.   J.   LOCKE. 

DERELICTS.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Daily  Chronicle—"  Mr.  Locke  tells  his  story  in  a  very  true,  very  moving,  and 
very  noble  book.  If  anyone  can  read  the  last  chapter  with  dry  eyes  we  shall  be 
surprised.     '  Derelicts '  is  an  impressive  and  important  book." 

Morning  Post— Mr.  Locke's  clever  novel.  One  of  the  most  effective  stories 
that  have  appeared  for  some  time  past." 

IDOLS.  Crown  Svo,  6/- 

Daily  Telegraph—"  A  brilliantly  written  and  eminently  readable  book." 

Daily  Mail— One  of  the  most  distinguished  novels  of  thepresentbookseason." 

Pm«cA—"  The  Baron  strongly  recommends  Mr.  \V.  J.  Locke's  'Idols'  to  all 
novel  readers.  It  is  well  written.  No  time  is  wasted  in  superfluous  descriptions  ; 
there  is  no  fine  writing  for  fine  writing's  sake,  but  the  story  will  absorb  the 
reader.  ...  It  is  a  novel  that,  once  taken  up,  cannot  willingly  be  put  down 
until  finished." 

10 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY   W.  J.    LOCKE— cc;/»//«//ci/. 
A   STUDY    IX   SHADOWS.  Crown  8vo.  3/6 

Daily  ClirontcU — "Mr.  Locke  has  achieved  a  distinct  success  in  this  novel. 
He  has  struck  many  emotional  chords  and  struck  them  all  with  a  firm  sure  hand." 

Atltcnaum — "The  character-drawine  is  distinctly  good.  All  the  personages 
stand  out  well  defined  with  strongly  marked  individualities." 

THE   WHITE    DOVE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Times—"  An  interesting  story,,  full  of  dramatic  scenes." 

Morning  Post — "An  interesting  story.  The  characters  are  strongly  con- 
ceived and  vividly  presented,  and  the  dramatic  moments  are  powerfully  realized."' 

THE    USURPER.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

IVorld — "This  quite  uncommon  novel." 

Spectator — "  Character  and  plot  are  most  ingeniously  wrought,  and  the  con- 
clusion, when  it  comes,  is  fully  satisfying." 
Times — "An  impressive  romance." 

THE    DEMAGOGUE    AND    LADY    PHAYRE.        Cr.  8vo.        3/6 

AT   THE    GATE    OF   SA.MARIA.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  Chronicle — "  The  heroine  of  this  clever  story  attracts  our  interest.  .  .  . 
She  is  a  clever  and  subtle  study.  .  .  .  We  congratulate  Mr.  Locke." 

Mortiim;  Post — "A  cleverly  written  tale  .  .  .  the  author's  pictures  of 
Bohemian  life  are  bright  and  graphic." 

WHERE    LOVE    IS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Mr.  J.\MES  DouGL.iiS,  in  Sfar—^'  I  do  not  often  praise  a  book  with  this 
exultant  gusto,  but  it  gave  me  so  much  spiritual  stimulus  and  moral  pleasure  that 
I  feel  bound  to  snatch  the  additional  delight  of  commending  it  to  those  readers 
who  long  for  a  novel  that  is  a  piece  of  literature  as  well  as  a  piece  of  life." 

Standard — "A  brilliant  piece  of  work." 

Tintta — "  The  author  has  the  true  gift ;  his  people  are  alive." 

THE  MORALS  OF  MARCUS  ORDEYNE.    Cr.  8vo.    6/- 

Mr.  C.  K.  Shokier,  in  Sphere—"'  A.  hook  \w\V\ch  has  just  delighted  my  heart." 
Truth. — "Mr.  Locke's  new  novel  is  one  of  the  most  artistic  pieces  of  work  I 

have  met  with  for  many  a  day." 

Daily  Chronicle. — "  Mr.  Locke  succeeds,  indeed,  in  every  crisis  of  this  most 

originalstory." 

THE    BELOVED    VAGAbOND.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Triith. — "Certainly  it  is  the  most  brilliant  piece  of  work  Mr.  Locke  has  done." 
Evening  Standard. — "  Mr.  Locke  can  hardly  fail  to  write  beautifully.     He  has 
not  failed  now. " 

SIMON   THE   JESTER.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

*jf*  The  central  figure  of  Mr.  Locke's  new  novel  is  one  Simon  de  Gex,  M.P., 
who  having  met  life  with  a  gay  and  serene  philosophy  is  suddenly  called  upon  to 
face  Death.  This  he  does  gallantly  and  jests  at  Death  until  he  discovers  to  his 
confusion  that  Destiny  is  a  grecter  jester  than  he.  Eventually  by  surrendering 
his  claims  he  attains  salvation.  The  heroine  is  Lola  Brandt,  an  ex-trainer  of 
animals,  and  an  important  figure  in  the  story  is  a  dwarf.  Professor  Anastasius 
Papadopoulos,  who  has  a  troupe  of  performing  cats.  The  scene  of  the  novel  is 
laid  in  London  and  Algiers. 

II 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 
BY   INGRAHAM  LOYELL. 

MARGARITAS   SOUL.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Punch. — "There  have  been  a  great  many  itigc'nues  (mock  or  real)  in  modern 
fiction,  and  doubtless  one  or  two  in  actual  life  ;  but  there  never  was  one  inside  a 
book  or  out  of  it  who  came  within  a  four-mile  cab  radius  of  Margarita.  The  book 
is  well  worth  reading." 

Westminster  Gaseltc.—"' A  book  which  does  not  let  the  reader's  interest  flag 
for  a  moment  It  is  full  of  laughter  and  smiles,  of  seriousness,  comfortable  philo- 
sophy and  a  few  tears." 

BY   A.   NEIL  LYONS. 

ARTHUR'S.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Tinies.—"  Not  only  a  very  entertaining  and  amusing  work,  but  a  very  kindly 
and  tolerant  work  also.  Incidentally  the  work  is  a  mirror  of  a  phase  of  the  low 
London  life  of  to-day  as  true  as  certain  of  Hogarth's  transcripts  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  far  more  tender." 

Punch.—"  Mr.  Neil  Lyons  seems  to  get  right  at  the  heart  of  things,  and  I  con- 
fess to  a  real  admiration  for  this  philosopher  of  the  coffee-stall." 

SIXPENNY   PIECES.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Pall  Mall  Gazette.—"  It  is  pure,  fast,  sheer  life,  salted  with  a  sense  of  humour." 

Evening  Standard. — "' Si-Kpenny  Pieces '  is  as  good  as  'Arthur's',  and  that 

is  saying  a  great  deal.     A  book  full  of  laughter  and  tears  and  hits  innumerable 

that  one  feels  impelled  to  read  aloud.     '  Sixi>enny  Pieces '  would  be  very  hard 

indeed  to  beat." 

BY  FIONA  MACLEOD  (William  Sharp). 

THE    MOUNTAIN    LOVERS.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Litcrary  IVorld.—"  We  eagerly  devour  page  after  page ;  we  are  taken  captive 
by  the  speed  and  poetry  of  the  book." 

Graphic.—'"  It  is  as  sad,  as  sweet,  as  the  Hebridean  skies  themselves,  but 
with  that  soothing  sadnessof  Nature  which  is  so  blessed  a  relief  after  a  prolonged 
dose  of  the  misery  of  '  mean  streets.'  " 

BY   ALLAN   McAULAY. 

THE    EAGLE'S   NEST.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Athenceutn. — "We  should  describe  the  book  as  a  brilliant  tour  de  force.  .  .  . 
The  stoiy  is  spirited  and  interesting.  The  love  interest  also  is  excellent  and 
pathetic." 

Spectator. — "  This  is  one  of  those  illuminating  and  stimulating  romances  which 
set  people  reading  histoi-y." 

BY  FREDERICK  NIYEN. 

THE   LOST   CABIN    MINE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Athenesum. — "The  book  should  be  read  by  lovers  of  good  fiction." 
IVcstininstcr  Gazette.— "The  whole  story  is  told  with  an  amount  of  spirit  and 
realism  that  grips  the  reader  throughout." 

THE    ISLAND    PROVIDENCE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  Graphic. — "  Its  descriptive  power  is  remarkable.  The  author  'springs 
imagination,'  to  use  George  Meredith's  words,  and  springs  it  with  no  more  than 
the  few  words  prescribed  by  that  master." 

Academy. — "  Vigorous  writing." 

12 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST    OF     FICTION 
BY   FRANK   NORRIS. 

THE    THIRD    CIRCLE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Montim;  Posl. — "As  a  sketch  by  a  great  artist  often  reveals  to  the  amateur 
more  of  his  power  and  skill  than  a  large  finished  work  in  which  the  effect  is  con- 
cealed, so  in  these  virile  little  studies  we  are  made  to  realise  quite  clearly  what 
powers  of  observation  and  what  a  keen  eye  for  effective  incident  Mr.  Norris  had." 

Spectator. — "A  series  of  remarkable  sketches  and  short  stories  by  the  late 
Mr.  trank  Norris  .  .  .  well  worth  readinj?." 

BY   F.   J.   RANDALL. 

LOVE   AND    THE    IRO.N'MOXGER.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Dailv  Telegraph. — "Since  the  gay  days  when  Mr.  I'".  Anstey  was  writing  his 
inimitable  series  of  humourous  novels,  we  can  recall  no  book  of  purely  farcical 
imagination,  so  full  of  excellent  entertainment  as  this  first  effort  of  Mr.  F.  J. 
Randall.     '  Love  and  the  Ironmonger'  is  certain  to  be  a  success." 

Times—''  As  diverting  a  comedy  of  errors  as  the  reader  is  likely  to  meet  with 
for  a  considerable  time." 

Mr.  Clement  Shorter  in  The  Sphere — "  I  thank  the  author  for  a  delightful 
hour's  amusement." 

BY   STEPHEN   REYNOLDS. 

A    POOR    MAX'S    HOUSE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Daily  Mail — "This  is  a  remarkable  book,  and  we  hope  it  will  receive  the 
attention  it  deserves." 

Atheticcum—"  h.  remarkably  vivid  and  sympathetic  picture.  It  is  an  achieve- 
ment of  conspicuous  merit." 

THE    HOLY   MOUNTAIN.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Funch — "  .  .  .  deserves  nothing  but  praise  .  .  .  a  clever  story  well  told,  and 
an  endlessly  amusing  caricature  of  the  petty  side  of  life." 
IVestmiiistcr  Gazette — "Vivid  and  brilliant." 
Standard—"  Here  at  last  is  an  honest  strong  piece  of  work." 

ALONGSHORE.  WHERE  MAN  AND  SEA  ARE  FACE  TO  FACE 

Crown  Svo.  6/- 

BY   HENRY   ROWLAND. 

GER.MAINE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Athcnctiim—"  A  conspicuously  uncommon  story." 

Daily  Chrotticle — "A  well  written  story  of  distinctly  original  flavour." 
Outlook—"  We  have  in  '  Germaine'  a  really  vital  and  original  book— passion- 
ate yet  pure,  full  of  the  deep  things  of  life,  yet  abrim  with  whimsical  humour. ' 

BY   HUGH   DE   SELINCOURT. 

A   BOY'S    MARRI.\GE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

£zwn>i^' S/rtMf/tjn/—"  E.xceedingly  realistic  .  .  .  but  does  not  give  the  impres- 
sion that  anything  is  expatiated  upon  for  the  sake  of  effect.  A  daring  but  sincere 
and  simple  book.  .  .  .  likely  to  attract  a  good  deal  of  attention." 

Atfienceiim — "The  best  points  in  Mr.  de  Stlincourt's  novel  are  his  delicacy  of 
treatment  and  sense  of  character.  .  .  .     He  has  the  making  of  a  fine  novelist." 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 

BY   HUGH   DE   SELmCOU'RT— continued. 

THE   STRONGEST   PLUME.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Academy — "  An  uncomfortable  story  for  the  conventionally  minded.  It  deals 
a  deadly  blow  to  the  ordinary  accepted  notions  of  the  respectable." 

Daily  Telegraph — "  The  story  is  a  very  commendable  as  well  as  a  very  inter' 
esting  piece  o?  work." 

Daily  Mail — "  A  neat,  artistic  story." 

THE    HIGH    ADVENTURE.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Evening  Standard. — "A  novel  for  all  lovers  of  the  poetry  of  life  '  uttered  or 
nnexpressed.' 

Morning  Post. — "  Mr.  de  Selincourt  certainly  has  a  talent  for  describing  rather 
nice  young  men." 

Obsert'er. — "A  clever  and  refreshing  story.' 

THE   WAY   THINGS    HAPPEN.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Morning  Post. — "The  book  has  moments  ol  grace  and  charm  that  few  contem- 
porary writers  give  us." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette.—'' '  The  Way  Things  Happen  '  confirms  a  long-settled  con- 
viction that  among  the  young  generation  of  writers  there  are  few  who  can  compete 
with  Mr.  de  Selincourt  for  pride  of  place." 

Times. — "  Reading  this  book  is  a  surprising  and  a  rare  experience." 

BY  H.   SIENKIEWICZ. 

THE    FIELD   OF    GLORY.        Cr.  8vo.        6/-       Fifth  Thou.sand. 

S/^c^ator.  —  "  A  spirited,  picturesque  romance  .  .  .  full  of  adventures,  related 
with  all  the  author's  picturesqueness  of  detail  and  vigour  of  outline." 

Evening  Standard. — "As  a  vital,  humourous  and  extraordinarily  effective 
presentment  of  a  childish,  heroic,  lovable  race,  it  deserves  to  be  read  and  remem- 
bered .  .  .  worthy  of  Dumas." 

BY   G.   S-    STREET. 

THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   A   BOY.  F'cap.  8vo.  3/6 

Fifth  Edition. 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "A  creation  in  which  there  appears  to  be  no  flaw." 
Speaker.— "  The  conception  is  excellent  and  the  style  perfect.     One  simmers 
with  laughter  from  first  to  last." 

THE   TRIALS    OF   THE    BANTOCKS.  Crown  8vo.  3/6 

IVestminsler  Gazette. — "  Since  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  left  us  we  remember 
nothing  so  incisive  about  the  great  British  Middle,  and  we  know  of  nothing  of 
Mr.  Street's  that  we  like  so  well." 

.Saturday  Review. — "  Mr.  Street  has  a  very  delicate  gift  of  satire." 

Times. — "A  piece  of  irony  that  is  full  of  distinction  and  wit." 

THE   WISE    AND   THE   WAYWARD.  Crown  8vo.  6/- 

Mr.  W.  L.  Courteney  in  Daily  Telegraph.—"  Mr.  Street  has  given  us  a  novel- 
of  rare  distinction  and  charm.  The  fineness  of  his  execution  yields  as  much 
artistic  and  literary  delight  as  the  delicacy  of  his  perceptions  and  the  acuteness 
of  his  analysis." 

14 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     F1CTI(3N 

BY   HERMANN   SUDERMANN. 

REGINA  ;  or  THE    SINS    OF    THE    FATHERS. 

Crown  Svo.  6/-  Third  Edition. 

A  Translation  of  "  Der  Katzensteg',"  by  Beatrice  Marshall. 

St.  James's  Gaaette. — "A  striking  piece  of  work,  full  of  excitement  and  strongly 
drawn  character." 

Globe. — "The  novel  is  a  striking  one,  and  deserves  a  careful  and  critical 
attention." 

BY   CLARA  YIEBIG. 

ABSOLUTION.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Times.—"  There  is  considerable  strength  in  'Absolution'  .  .  .  As  a  realistic 
study  the  story  has  mnch  merit." 

Daily  Telegraph. — The  tale  is  powerfully  told  .  .  .  the  tale  will  prove  absorb- 
ing with  its  minute  characterisation  and  real  passion." 

OUR   DAILY    BREAD.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

AI/ienaeuM.—"  The  story  is  not  only  of  great  human  interest,  but  also  extremely 
valuable  as  a  study  of  the  conditions  in  which  a  large  section  of  the  poorer  classes 
and  small  tradespeople  of  German  cities  spendjtheir  lives.  Clara  Viebig  manipu- 
lates her  material  with  extraordinary  vigour.  .  .  .  Her  characters  are  alive." 

Daily  Telegraph. — "Quite  excellent." 

BY  MRS.   WILFRID  YYARD. 

THE    LIGHT    BEHIND.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Alhen(xnnt. — "  Qualities  of  a  very  desirable  kind,  united  to  a  quiet  moderate 
manner,  do  not  belong  to  the  common  novel.  It  is  perhaps  superfluous  to  say 
that  Mrs.  Wilfrid  Ward's  new  story  is  not  a  common  novel  and  that  it  abounds  in 
this  pleasing  combination." 

Punch. — "This  is  a  book  to  read,  and  to  keep  to  read  again." 

BY  H.    B.  MARRIOTT  YifATSON. 

GALLOPING    DICK.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Daily  Telegraph. — "  We  have  an  always  attractive  theme  worked  up  in  an 
unpretentious  t^ut  thoroughly  effective  style." 

AT   THE    FIRST   CORNER.  Crown  Svo.  3/6 

Saturday  Review. — "Admirably  conceived  and  brilliantly  finished  ;  the  book 
will  be  read." 

THE    HEART   OF    MIRAND.\.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Spectaior. — "  Mr.  Marriott  Watson's  literary  gift  is  unmistakable." 

BY  EDITH  Y?HARTON. 

THE   GRE.ATER    INCLIN.^TION.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Dailv  Telegriiph. — "Teems  with  literary  ability  and  dramatic  force." 
Outlook. — "  Miss  Wharton  writes  with  a  sympathy,  insight  and  understanding 
that  we  have  seldom  seen  equalled." 

15 


JOHN     LANE'S     LIST     OF     FICTION 
BY   M.   P.   WILLCOCKS. 

WIDDICOMBE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Li'eniiig  ^/anJani. — "  Wonderfully  alive  and  pulsating  with  a  curious  fervour 
which  brings  round  the  reader  the  very  atmosphere  whicn  the  author  describes' 
.  .  .  A  fine,' rather  unusual  novel.  .  .  .  There  are  some  striking  studies  of  women." 

Truth. — "  A  first  novel  of  most  unusual  promise." 

Queen. — "An  unusually  clever  book." 

THE   WINGLESS   VICTORY.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Tniits. — "  Such  books  are  worth  keeping  on  the  shelves  even  by  the  classics, 

for  thej'  are  painted  in  colours  that  do  not  fade.' 

Daily  Telegraph.— "  A  novel  of  such  power  as  should  win  for  its  author  a 

position  in  the  front  rank  of  contemporary  writers  of  fiction." 

A   MAN    OF    GENIUS.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

JJiitlv  Teh:i(Taph. — "  '  Widdicombe'  was  good,  and  'The  Wingless  Victory" 
was  perhaps  better,  but  in  '  A  Man  of  Genius  '  the  author  has  given  us  something 
that  should  ssure  her  place  in  the  front  rank  of  our  living  novelists.  In  this 
latest  novel  there  is  so  much  of  character,  so  much  of  incident,  and  to  its  writing 
has  gone  so  much  insight  and  observation  that  it  is  not  easy  to  praise  it  without 
seeming  exaggeration." 

Punch.— '^  There  is  no  excuse  for  not  reading  '  A  Man  of  Genius '  and  making 
a  short  stay  in  the  'seventh  Devon  of  delight." 
Globe. — "  Exquisite." 

THE   WAY   UP.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

%*  Michael  Strode,  the  ironmaster,  who  is  the  central  figure  of  Miss  Willcocks' 
new  novel,  devotes  his  life  to  the  work  of  showing  the  Way  Out  of  the  economic 
jungle  of  poverty  by  means  of  co-operative  production  ;  he  is  prepared  to  sacrifice 
everything  :  he  is  a  fanatic,  possessed  by  an  idea.  But  Strode  the  thinker  is  also 
Strode  the  man,  bound  by  closest  ties  to  a  woman  of  the  oldest  type  in  the  world. 
The  siren  refuses  to  lend  either  her  money  or  herself  to  further  his  scheme.  The 
novel  is  one,  therefore,  that  touches  three  burnin"  questions  of  the  hour — capital 
and  labour,  the  claims  of  the  individual  against  those  of  the  State,  the  right  of  a 
woman  to  her  own  individuality.  In  the  clash  of  passion  and  duty,  blow  follows 
blow,  revelation  succeeds  revelation,  till  the  wrappings  that  shroud  reality  are 
stripped  from  it  and  both  dreamers  awake,  but  to  what  reality  must  be  read  in  the 
pages  of  the  book  itself,  which,  besides  being  a  picture  of  a  group  of  modern  men 
and  women,  is  also  a  study  of  certain  social  tendencies  of  to-day  and  possibly 
to-morrow. 

BY   F.    E.   MILLS  YOUNG. 

A    MISTAKEN    MARRIAGE.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Fall  Mall  Gazelle.-''  It  is  a  very  sincere  and  moving  story.     The  heroine 
claims  our  sympathies  from  the  first,  and  we  follow  her  fortunes  with  absorbed 
interest." 
CHIP.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

Mornifig  Post.—"  Original,  vivid  and  realistic." 
Athenceum. — "A  tale  ...  of  unusual  romantic  interest." 

ATONEMENT.  Crown  Svo.  6/- 

%*  The  story,  which  is  laid  in  South  Africa,  shows  how  Harborough,  a  man 
of  naturally  honourable  character,  becomes  entangled  with  Sylvia  Wentworth,  a 
girl  who  cfeliberately  sets  to  work  to  fascinate  him  while  already  engaged  to 
Sydney  Ainleigh.  When  Harborough  offers  to  marry  her,  Sylvia  refuses  and 
steadily  adheres  to  her  determination  to  marry  her  fiance.  Harborough  meets 
and  falls  passionately  in  love  with  Naomi  Bruce,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the 
farmer  on  whose  farm  he  is  working.  How  he  endeavours  to  conquer  his  love, 
and  how  circumstances  combine  to  bring  Iiim  and  Naomi  together,  the  tale  reveals. 
Naomi  is  in  ignorance  of  Harborough's  former  entanglement  at  the  time  of  her 
marriage.  Later  he  confesses  it  to  her,  and  she,  disillusioned  and  horrified,  leaves 
him.     How  the  tale  ends  the  reader  must  find  out  for  himself. 

i6 


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GAYLORO 

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